Once in a Lifetime Opportunity
by duplicitywrites
Summary: Sequel to 'If You Can't Say Anything Nice'. / In which Tom and Harry get into their first fight, leaving each of them with a wish to understand the other better. As fate would have it, there is a solution! The next morning, they wake up in each other's bodies. Tom thinks this is perfect time to make the best of a bad situation. Harry disagrees. (COMPLETE.)
1. Boundaries

A/N:

hello and welcome to the latest installation of the texting universe (If You Can't Say Anything Nice)! though it is not needed to understand most of this story, it's just better if you've read it :D

this story has been marinating in my 'ideas' document for freakin' ever. it will be FLUFFY. it will be FUNNY. it will be sickeningly HEART-WARMING. i do NOT know how long this will be, and i do not have it plotted out very much at all. enjoy the mess that is produced by my brain.

ahem. no beta we die like men. all mistakes are my own. enjoy the storyyyyy.

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**Once in a Lifetime Opportunity**

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* * *

**Chapter 1: Boundaries**

* * *

"I swear to god, Tom, you don't know how to give me space when I need it!"

Harry smacked his hand against the door frame to emphasize his point. They were having a row—their first row, actually—in the doorway of Tom's dorm room. Harry felt a bit bad, because he knew Tom cared about public appearances more than anything, but he was just so _annoyed, _irritated to the point of absolute frustration, and he knew the only way to make Tom listen was by dragging it out into a semi-public space.

"Harry," said Tom, expression stiff. "You're not listening to what I'm saying—"

"Oh my god," Harry said. "Ohhhh my god. Okay. We are not going to do this right now. I am going to go home, and you are going to _stay here_, and we are talk about this tomorrow once we've both calmed down."

Tom didn't say anything for a moment. He merely stood there with his hands clenched into white fists, his face pale save for the two splotches of colour high on his cheeks. His jaw was tense, his eyes staring at some point over Harry's shoulder.

Harry relented, reaching out for one of Tom's hands, prying the fist open and smoothing out the fingers. "It's okay," he said. "We'll talk through this tomorrow, alright? I promise. But I really do need to set a boundary here."

"Fine," Tom said, still sounding angry, though his mouth twitched, softening slightly as Harry ran a thumb over the back of his hand.

"Okay, good," Harry said. "Good bye for now. I will _not _be checking my phone for messages for the next couple of hours."

"Fine," Tom said again, and so Harry dropped his hand and walked away, resisting the urge to cave and glance back over his shoulder.

It was just one day. Less than a day. He could do less than a day without Tom, and tomorrow they would talk things out and set a proper boundary, and things would be perfect again.

* * *

Tom dutifully refrained from texting Harry for at least thirty minutes. Harry arrived back at his parents' home with one (1) notification on his phone.

_At least Tom's learning, _Harry thought to himself. Then his phone buzzed again. _Somewhat, _he added.

He went straight to his room and dumped his phone on his bedside table, and then threw his entire body onto his bed in a flop. At least tomorrow was Friday. Harry would only have one late afternoon class to suffer through, and then he would go and see Tom. If things went badly, then they'd have the entire weekend to cool off before they tried again.

And they would be trying again, because Harry liked Tom a lot, cared about him, and he wasn't about to give up after one stupid fight. Tom just needed to learn that there were boundaries that he couldn't just bowl his way over. Like when Harry asked for space, he meant it. And when he didn't want to talk about something, he meant it.

Tom was just… overbearing, at times. He was larger than life in a lot of ways, and usually that was fine, because Harry enjoyed being swept along by Tom's enthusiasm. But sometimes Harry just needed to decompress, and Tom wasn't great at letting him do that

So what this had really been was a bunch of little things piled up on top of each other, which had resulted in Harry losing his temper. Which wasn't really fair to Tom, either, because Harry had just been bottling all of this up to begin with when he should have said something sooner.

On the side table, Harry's phone buzzed again. Maybe it was Ron or Hermione, he thought blearily. But he didn't really want to talk to either of them at the moment. Ugh. Harry reached over for his phone and shut it off. No more thinking about this for now. He would get on his computer later and tell Ron and Hermione he was taking the night off. All of his homework and stuff could wait until he wasn't so drained and exhausted.

"Harry?" It was his mum at the door.

Harry made himself sit up. "Yeah?"

"You're home early today." She squinted at him for a moment, likely taking in his sulky face and the way he was scrunched up on his bed. "Anything I can help with?"

"No," he said. "Tom was just being… Tom. I'm going to talk to him about it tomorrow."

"Okay." Mum came over and patted him on the shoulder. "If you need me to give him a talking to—"

"_Mum,_" Harry protested. "I'm fine, really. I can handle it. I just need some space, okay?"

"Okay. Love you."

Harry received another pat, this time on the top of his head, and then his mum left, shutting the door behind her. Flopping back down, Harry ground his teeth together before releasing his breath in a deep sigh. It would be okay. He'd spend tonight with his family, and then he would think of how to explain things to Tom tomorrow.

Tom was just so _difficult _to figure out. Though Harry knew that Tom had feelings, Tom was simply rubbish at talking about them. Which was fine, because there were other ways to show people you cared about them other than saying it, but Tom was a stoic type of person, which made it hard to guess what he was thinking, especially when he was upset.

Sometimes, Harry wished he could get just a glimpse of what went on in his boyfriend's head. There had to be some kind of explanation for all of the posturing and the compliment wrangling. He only had to hope that it would all make sense to him someday.

* * *

Tom scowled down at his phone. Harry had said that he wouldn't be checking for messages. Tom _knew _that. But that didn't stop him from looking at his text history anyways, hoping that Harry would cave and look at the apology Tom had so painstakingly typed out.

But there was no little 'seen at' at the bottom, which meant that Tom could only mindlessly cycle through the rest of his social media, wondering what Harry was up to.

Open Instagram, refresh the feed, go to his profile, scroll through the photos of him and Harry together. Close Instagram. Open Snapchat—

With a loud noise of frustration, Tom dropped his phone down onto his bed. Tomorrow. Harry had promised tomorrow. But he didn't think he could handle it if he saw Harry posting anything anywhere. Not while he was here alone and feeling so terrible.

It was selfish, sure, to wish that Harry was experiencing the same misery that he was, but he _wanted _it, he wanted it so badly. To know that Harry cared enough to have the same terrible aching feeling in his chest at the thought of their relationship ending. Not that it would end. Because Tom had apologized, and he was going to win Harry back over.

Tom rubbed at his face. He was sorry, wasn't he? He hadn't meant to make Harry upset. Maybe he should get a second opinion.

Picking his phone up again, Tom sent off a number of texts to Lucius. His friend was always talking about how 'high maintenance' Narcissa was or some such. Harry certainly wasn't anything like that, but perhaps Lucius had some ideas on how to grovel that Tom could twist to his own purposes.

A few minutes later, when no response was received, Tom added a few more texts with some other questions.

Then, a few minutes after _that_, he added a few more.

Then, maybe twenty minutes after his first message, Tom got a response.

.

**Lucius:** I am in CLASS right now I will answer you later!

.

Annoying. Tom dumped his phone down again and rolled onto his side, staring at the wall. Maybe he could work on his case study assignment for his business management class. Maybe he could read over his article submission for the school paper. Maybe—

His phone rang, and Tom sat up, snatching the device up and glancing at the screen. It was Luna 'Loony' Lovegood, who was his partner for his physics lab. With a sigh, Tom answered the call.

"Hello, this is Tom speaking."

"Hi Tom!" Luna's voice was very soft, even over the phone, and Tom had to press his ear closer to hear her. "I was wondering if you had time to go over our lab report later this weekend?"

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sure. What time?"

"Does Saturday work? Ten o'clock? I want to make sure I have time for my morning walk."

"That's fine," Tom said briskly. "Sounds fantastic. I will book a study room and text you the location. Have a nice day, Luna." And then he hung up without saying goodbye.

Tom's phone buzzed again. This time it was Lucius, only Tom no longer felt like talking to anyone. He just wanted to stew in his misery.

.

**Tom:** Too late, idiot. Go away and leave me alone until tomorrow

.

Then he shut his phone off and set it aside on his nightstand.

The worst part about all this was that he wasn't exactly sure what it was that he'd done wrong, only that Harry was mad with him. Harry was… he was normally very sweet. Kind and patient and understanding. And so they'd never had any problems like this before, because though Tom could be a bit blunt at times, Harry always took it in stride. But this was unchartered territory, which Tom did not like one bit.

He had already carefully crafted an apology for his behaviour, making sure to point out that he hadn't intended any ill will and asking what he could do to ameliorate the situation. But what if that wasn't enough?

Tom wished he could just dump himself inside of Harry's head and retrieve all the answers he needed. How to make Harry happy. How to be the perfect boyfriend. He only had to hope that it would all make sense to him someday.

* * *

That night, the both of them went to bed separately, tired and a little bit lonely, phone messages unread.

* * *

The next morning, Tom woke up to someone knocking at his door. He opened his eyes, suddenly disoriented, and sat up. The first thing he noted was that he wasn't wearing a shirt, which had certainly not been how he'd gone to bed last night.

Secondly, he noted that he was in Harry's room. He could see the corkboard covered in photographs and sticky notes. He could see the pride flag tacked up next to it. For one delirious moment, he wondered if he had somehow gotten himself drunk and wound up spending the night at Harry's house after seducing him.

Tom blindly patted the space next to him. The bed was empty, and the other side of it was cold. The knocking at the door grew louder.

"Honey? It's for you—it's Tom."

The door swung open, revealing Lily Evans-Potter. Harry's mother. She was smiling, and did not look at all confused by the fact that her son's boyfriend was sitting shirtless in his bed. She was holding a cordless phone out towards him.

"I think he's come to his senses, if you ask me," Lily said, a mischievous smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

Tom took the phone, numb, and watched as Lily left the room. Then he held the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?" he asked, and his voice sounded strange.

"Tom!" came the voice on the other end. "Is that you? What the fuck? What the fuck?"

It was too early in the morning to be this loud. "What is _wrong_ with you?" Tom said right back, irritated. Where was Harry? What was going on? This was like some kind of horrible fever dream.

"Look in the mirror, you bastard!"

Tom forced himself to his feet and over to the vanity and—

Oh, come on. No way. This _had _to be a dream. Tom lifted the phone back up. "This is a dream, right?" he asked. Asked with Harry's voice. Because he was Harry.

His reflection—black messy hair and green eyes and golden, tanned skin—stared back at him.

"If it is a dream, I'm going to _kill _you when I wake up," Harry said, and now Tom recognized the voice, if only because he'd recorded himself enough times in the past to be able to tell whose voice it was.

Tom turned away from the mirror, disturbed. Then his eyes fell upon the clock on Harry's nightstand. It was eight thirty in the morning.

"Harry," he said, voice urgent. "Harry listen to me."

"Yes?" It was odd to hear his own voice sounding… almost afraid? Like he was afraid of the answer. Tom had never, ever sounded like anything of the sort, which made their current situation even more surreal.

"You have to wash up and get dressed. Right. Now. And then grab my school binder and my laptop. Everything should already be inside of my bookbag."

"Okay, okay." Tom heard the phone get switched to the other ear, followed by the rustle of fabric. "And then you want me to come over?" Harry asked.

"No," Tom said slowly, drawing the syllables out, breathing through his nose. "I need you to go to class for me. I have 'Introduction to Psychology' at nine am sharp."

Silence.

And then: "Tom, you have got to be fucking with me."

* * *

A/N:

**harry:** CRISIS MODE? tom please tell me what to do

**tom:** okay harry, first step is go to my morning class and sit through attendance


	2. Call it Fashion

A/N:

tom and harry learn the value of family, friends, and fashion. in that order exactly.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Call it Fashion**

* * *

"The professor for that class takes attendance," Tom said defensively, crossing an arm over his chest. Only that felt odd because it wasn't _his _chest, so he uncrossed the arm and walked over to Harry's closet to get dressed. "And I'm still not entirely convinced this is happening."

"Okay," said Harry. "First of all, I forgot that you were a masochist who willingly signed up for a nine am Friday course. Is that why your alarm goes off at seven? Who needs _two hours _to get ready? You live on campus! And second of all, what part of this situation makes it a _good idea _for me to go to your class? I don't know how to act like you!"

Tom struggled his way into a pair of jeans, trying to keep the phone balanced on his shoulder—Harry's shoulder—while he did so. "It's an introductory course. Just sit through the attendance and glare at anyone who tries to talk to you."

"That is much, much harder than you make it sound. And why are you glaring at people in your class to begin with?"

"I don't just _glare_ at people," Tom said. "What kind of classmate do you think I am? It'll make them leave you alone, which is the point, and then I can make up an excuse for the bad mood later."

"Ugh," Harry said. "Ughhhhhhh."

"Just do it," Tom said. "Please? Just this one class. It's the only one I have today where my absence will be noted."

"You owe me," Harry said. "You owe me big time."

"You are the best boyfriend in the world," Tom said sweetly.

"Ugh," Harry repeated. "It sounds weird when you say that as me. I am going to hang up now. You better be here on campus by the time your class lets out."

"Promise," Tom said. "Don't worry about a thing."

Harry blew out a breath. "Okay. See you soon," he said, and then he hung up.

Tom tossed the cordless phone onto the bed, then wandered over to Harry's dresser to grab a shirt. Then he paused as he caught sight of his reflection for the second time this morning. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, of course, but the idea of being able to stare as long as he liked… Tom ran a hand down his chest, his fingertips curling into the dips of the pectoral muscles. Then he took a deep breath, pulling his hand away, and turned back to the drawer.

Harry had a lot of t-shirts and jumpers in his dresser. Tom rifled through it all until he found a plain white t-shirt, which he pulled out and set aside. Then he started to look for a jumper to go with it, but partway through the process he paused, considering. Harry had more clothes than just this, didn't he? He had to have other, less casual articles of clothing.

T-shirt in hand, Tom rolled his shoulders and strode out of Harry's room, walking towards where he could hear the sounds of chatter in the kitchen downstairs.

"Mum?" he called out, hoping that shouting wasn't too out of character. "Where are my slacks? I can't find them."

"They're in the box at the top of your closet!" Lily shouted back. "Remember? We put it all there after Sirius' ridiculous housewarming party!"

Ah, that was right. Harry had complained about his godfather hosting a housewarming party that required all of his invited guests to wear formalwear. A request that, Harry had said, was purely to satisfy his godfather's inclination towards the dramatic.

"Got it, thanks!" Tom called back, then returned to Harry's bedroom and opened the closet back up. Sure enough, there was a pile of boxes stacked on the top shelf above the rack of clothing.

Tom stretched his arm up. His fingers could only scrabble up against the side of the box. Harry wasn't tall enough to reach the top shelf of his own closet. Well, this at least explained why Harry never wore anything other than jeans and hoodies.

Leaning forward, Tom tilted onto the tips of his toes and made another attempt for the box. Still failure. Frustrated, Tom swung around to see if there was anything in Harry's room that was stable enough for him to use as a footstool.

"Harry? You need some help?" It was James Evans-Potter standing in the doorway now, a wide grin plastered on his face. "Your mum seemed to think the top shelf might be a little, ah, out of reach." Then James snorted, his grin widening even further.

The response to this came easily. Tom had certainly teased Harry enough about his height to know what Harry would have said in this situation. "I'm not that short," Tom retorted. "This thing is just too tall."

"Sure, sure," James said, stepping into the room and over to the closet, where he retrieved the boxes on the top shelf. "What do you need these for, anyways?"

Oops. Tom wracked his brain for an excuse. "Interview practice for my public speaking class," he said, after a pause.

"Whew, you need me to help run scenarios or anything?"

"No, I think I'll be fine," Tom said, taking the boxes from James and setting them down onto the dresser a few paces away. Then he added, "Thanks, dad."

"No problem. Come down soon, alright? We've got eggs going!" James said brightly.

"Sure thing," Tom said. "I just need to wash up."

Then, quite unexpectedly, James pulled him into a hug. Tom barely refrained from squeaking as his limbs were pinned to his sides. But the hug was…. nice. And oddly familiar. Tom supposed that this body was used to getting hugged by its father. Extricating an arm, Tom wrapped the limb around James' back for a brief second, and then he found himself released from the embrace.

"You're growing up so fast," James said. Then he sniffled, though the sound was exaggerated. "Soon you'll be graduating and getting a job and getting married and—"

"I need to get ready," Tom said, now a bit uncomfortable.

James eyed him for a second, then gave Harry's hair a ruffle. "Okay. Don't stress too much about the stuff with Tom, alright? I'm sure you two will work things out."

Tom nodded, not trusting his voice, and then James left the room.

A heavy sigh escaped as Tom glanced back over at the boxes of clothing on top of the dresser. _Things will work out_, he thought. _I will make sure of it. _

Opening the boxes up, Tom retrieved a pair of slacks and a dress shirt, both of which had been neatly folded and preserved in bags. These would do. Now to head to the bathroom and get ready for the day. Harry had to have some kind of hair gel lying about. Tom was fairly sure Harry had mentioned previous attempts to tame the riotous mess on his head.

Wandering into the bathroom, Tom looked around for the toothbrush and toothpaste. Then his eyes fell upon the bottle of contact solution and case that were sitting on the counter. Right. Harry sometimes wore contacts.

Tom picked up the contacts case and opened it up. It was empty. Then Tom glanced back up at the mirror, which was sharp and clear, and then at the towel rack behind him, which was also very visible.

Suspicious, Tom leaned over the counter to examine Harry's eyes. Sure enough, he could make out the faint lines of contact lenses. Goddamnit. Tom didn't wear contacts or glasses, and he wasn't confident enough to risk taking the contacts out to clean them or replace them, which meant that he would have to keep these in until he could meet up with Harry.

Blinking away the sudden sensation of dryness in his eyes, Tom hoped that this would all be resolved soon. While he still wanted to believe that this was merely a hyper-realistic dream scenario, it was looking less and less likely that this was so, which meant that they needed to figure out a temporary solution.

For now, however, there were tasks that he _could _accomplish. Namely, tasks involving hygiene. But before any of that, Tom wanted to ask Harry why he'd gone to bed with his contacts in the first place. Secretly, Tom hoped it was proof that Harry had also been distraught about their fight.

Tom sent off a new text and set the phone back into his back pocket for now. He had about two hours until his 'Introduction to Psychology' was supposed to let out, which was enough time for him to do something about the hair situation.

* * *

It had taken Harry forever to find proper clothes to wear. Tom had one _singular _pair of jeans, which he kept at the bottom of his drawer buried underneath piles of slacks and plain trousers. Then Harry had looked around for a long-sleeved shirt, or a hoodie, or something that didn't involve multiple buttons. Tom did have some t-shirts, but nothing that was warm enough and could be pulled on quick without a fuss.

Eventually, Harry settled on one of his own hoodies that he'd left behind at some point. It was a bit small, but it hung low enough past the waistband of Tom's jeans that Harry thought it would be alright for just the one class, at least until he could demand to know where Tom kept the rest of his clothes.

Next, Harry grabbed Tom's bookbag, which had been sitting innocuously on his desk chair, and Tom's jacket, which was hanging from a hook on the door. There were keys in the jacket pocket, thankfully, so Harry locked the door and headed for the ground floor.

As he walked, he pulled out Tom's phone, opening up the photo gallery and picking out the photo of Tom's schedule.

"C Building," Harry muttered, staring at it. "C Building?" He hadn't had any classes in C Building before, and this stupid intro class of Tom's was the only class Tom had there. Harry had never been around this early on a Friday to catch Tom at the end of this particular class. Usually they just met at the front of Tom's building, or somewhere else on campus.

Harry switched to the messaging app, where there was an unread notification.

**Harry:** You fell asleep with your contacts on?

Huh. Harry hadn't recalled actively choosing to do that, but it was something he had done before, typically after a late night of studying. Tom, who had stupid perfect vision, probably hadn't noticed right away because he was used to being able to see things.

Grumbling to himself, Harry opened his phone contact and changed the name so it was less confusing. Then he went to the phone settings to turn the auto-capitalization and auto-correct off, because Tom must have turned the ones on Harry's phone back _on. _Once he reached the appropriate settings, however, Harry realized that Tom already had them turned off. Did Tom just manually adjust all his capital letters? And spell everything right on the first try? What on earth.

**Tom:** You fell asleep with your contacts on?

**Harry:** it was an accident, you berk. now where in god's name is c building?

**Tom:** It's the one across from your Tuesday lab.

Okay, that was somewhere that Harry could walk to without getting lost.

**Tom:** Don't suppose I could ask you to take notes?

**Harry:** you're pushing it, tom

Harry swiped the conversation away for now and went to check the time. He had less than ten minutes to find a classroom he had never been to before. Anxious, he picked up his pace, jogging a little. It would be bad to be late, not only because it was Tom who would be getting the late mark, but also because arriving late would invite a lot of unwanted attention. Attention that Harry preferred very much to avoid in his current physical state.

Tom's phone buzzed again, but Harry ignored it. Stupid C Building was so far away.

A few minutes later, Harry had identified the correct building and gone to the correct floor. He checked the time again—five minutes to go—and consulted the floor plan tacked up on the wall. The numbers were _tiny_. This was absurd.

Harry squinted, leaning in, only to startle violently as someone grasped his shoulder.

"Looking for something?"

Slowly, horribly, Harry turned around. It was Lucius Malfoy, one of Tom's friends. He was dressed in a dark grey polo shirt with the school logo embroidered on the left pocket.

Upon seeing Harry's—no, Tom's—face, Lucius did a visible double take. Then Lucius' mouth actually opened a bit, forming a small 'O' shape. After a second, it shut itself with an audible sound, like they were living in a children's show rather than real life.

"Tom?"

Harry blinked. "...Yes?" he said, probably a second later than he should have.

Lucius paused, eyes roaming Harry's—fucking damn it, _Tom's_—face before his gaze dropped down to the floor and rose back up again, a quick once over. "Nothing," said Lucius. "Why don't we go to class?"

Harry nodded, relieved. Lucius would know where to go.

They walked for a short distance, only it was weird, because Lucius kept giving him this strange _look_, like Harry was suddenly going to leap over and try to attack him.

They entered the lecture hall and took a seat near the left side. Harry sat down, dropping Tom's bag on the floor by his feet.

Lucius looked at the bag, then cleared his throat. "So… are you and Harry still arguing, then?"

Harry wasn't exactly sure what the answer to that was. At this very moment, he had bigger problems. One very big problem. So Harry sat there, trying to think of how _Tom _would answer the question, only the words were not coming to him. If he was being honest, he hadn't expected Tom to tell anyone that they'd had a fight. Tom was too proud to admit when he was wrong, or admit that he had any weaknesses. It was a wonder that Lucius knew anything at all, really.

Evidently, the non-answer was good enough, because Lucius nodded sagely into the silence. "I see. Well, if you need anything at all, let me know. I could bring over some vodka—"

"No," Harry squeaked. Then he coughed and added, "It's fine. Thank you."

Lucius raised a brow to indicate that he did _not _think everything was fine, but he thankfully said nothing else as the professor at the front of the class began roll call.

Cursing Tom repeatedly in his head, Harry listened very attentively for Tom's name to be called. Maybe once the attendance was done, he could fake an emergency of some kind and leave…

"Tom Riddle?"

A jolt of nervousness ran through Harry. "Here!" he said, shooting his hand up. Some of the other students turned to stare at him, their faces morphing into varying expressions ranging from shock to confusion.

Even Lucius did not bother to disguise his incredulity at this outburst. "Really, Tom. Are you alright? Maybe you ought to go home and lie down…"

"Um," Harry said. "Maybe?"

Lucius' mouth settled into a firm grimace. He squeezed Harry's shoulder once, and then he stood up and made his way to the front of the class. Harry watched, dumbfounded, as Lucius talked to the professor, smiling and making a vague gesture in Harry's direction.

The professor's eyes fell upon him, concern clear in her expression, and she nodded once.

Then Lucius returned. "I told her you weren't feeling well," Lucius said. "Which I think is very obvious to most of the people in this room. I am going to take you back to your dorm, okay?"

"Okay." Harry scooped Tom's bag back up, trying to ignore the people who were still staring at him. Was Harry's behaviour really that different? He was feeling pretty jumpy, but that didn't really deserve the outright gawking that he was getting.

Once they had exited the classroom, Harry remembered that he was supposed to meet Tom. "Um," he said, stopping just a few feet away from the door. "I was supposed to meet, um, Harry… here, after class finished."

Lucius gave him another look, only this one was loaded with sympathy. "Why don't you text him and tell him to meet you at your dorm, instead? I have the feeling you'll be more comfortable there."

At a loss, Harry said, "Okay," and pulled out Tom's phone to do so. It was then Harry recalled that Tom had sent a few more messages while he'd been trying to find the classroom, and so he scrolled up to where the messages began.

**Tom:** I almost forgot to mention—Lucius is in this class as well. Do NOT attempt to hold a conversation with him.

Well. Too late for that. Harry scrolled further down so as to keep reading what Tom had sent.

**Tom: **If he asks you about us, you must tell him you do not want to talk about it. Glare if you can. Do NOT engage.

**Tom:** Harry? Harry, answer me.

**Tom:** Well, if you aren't answering, I do hope it's because you found the classroom and put the phone away, and not because you got yourself hopelessly lost in the C Building.

**Tom:** Your father makes very nice scrambled eggs.

Harry was well aware that Tom must have thrown in that last text just to fuck with him. He doubted that Tom would enjoy his dad's particular brand of awful Dad Humour, but the worry still lingered. The only thing worse than Tom and his dad not getting along? Them getting along and using their combined horribleness to commit evil crimes against Harry's psyche.

**Harry:** lucius is here and we are going back to your dorm

**Harry:** this is all your fault somehow i am sure of it

**Harry:** why don't you have normal friends? he keeps staring at me funny

**Tom:** I would hardly call the Weasley twins 'normal friends'.

**Tom:** I'll meet you at my dorm.

"He said he'll meet us there," Harry told Lucius.

"Excellent. Now, let me tell you a few things about Narcissa on our way there…" Lucius placed a hand on the small of Harry's back, guiding him along.

If Lucius wanted to talk about his girlfriend, then that meant Harry wouldn't have to try and pretend to act like Tom. "Okay," Harry said, "go ahead."

* * *

When Tom arrived at his dorm room there was no one out in the hallway, so he knocked on the door and waited for a response.

After a moment the door swung open, revealing Lucius. "Ah, hello," Lucius said, peering disdainfully down the length of his nose. It was odd, because Tom was used to being _taller_, and now Lucius was the one who was towering over him instead of the two of them being around the same height.

Tom cleared his throat. "Is Tom here?" he asked.

"I'm in here!" Harry said. He sounded… desperate. Tom supposed any length of time spent around Lucius could do that to a person.

Lucius took another step closer, and Tom took a step back, unthinking. "You better be here to apologize," Lucius said in a low tone. "Or else I will make your life here very… difficult."

While this was very sweet and all, Tom was beginning to worry about what Harry had done to invoke this kind of threat. "I will. I am," Tom said quickly. "Please let me in?"

Lucius scoffed for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder. "I'm only a text or call away if you need me."

"Okay! Thank you!" Tom winced at hearing his voice rising to such a pitch.

Then Lucius finally left, and Tom pushed into his dorm, shoving the door shut behind him. And then he took in the sight of himself seated cross-legged on his bed, blanket draped around his shoulders like a cape.

"Are those… jeans?" Tom asked, bemused.

"Oh." Harry looked down at himself, then back up at Tom. His eyes scanned Tom's figure before they flew wide, his mouth dropping open. "Oh. Oh my GOD. Is that why people are staring at me? Because I'm not—I'm not dressed like I'm about to interview for Stanford? And for god's sake, Tom, what the hell did you do to my hair—"

* * *

A/N:

**harry:** where tf are your hoodies?

**tom:** don't have the budget for that

**harry:** but you have slacks? and dress shirts?

**tom:** that's where all the money goes


	3. The Great Contact Lens Debacle

A/N:

horniness, height differences, and hand holding.

* * *

**Chapter 3: The Great Contact Lens Debacle**

* * *

"I think you look very nice like this," Tom said. "Not that you don't usually look nice, because you do, which I make a point to tell you, but it never hurts to dress up occasionally."

"Those are like, my only pair of dress pants," Harry said, frowning. "I don't even know where or how you found those."

"I have my ways."

"That response is still not a valid response," Harry told him. "No matter how many times you try to make it sound dashing and mysterious."

Tom pouted, which was a weird expression for Harry to see on his own face. Not that the rest of his appearance wasn't equally as weird. Whatever it was that Tom had done to his hair, it was now styled in thick, even waves that kept his face fully visible and free of stray strands.

"Anyways," Tom said. "You need to help me take your contacts out."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not that hard, really. You just need to be careful. Just like—" Harry pried his own left eye open with his fingers and made a motion.

"Mmm, no," said Tom. He shook his head. "You're going to do it. I am not about to be responsible for ruining your already disastrous vision by accidentally scooping your irises out."

"That—" Harry blew a huff of air out and stood up, dropping the blanket that Lucius had insisted on draping around his shoulders. "Tom. You _ hate _ people touching your face."

Harry wasn't sure if it was a sanitary thing, or an obsessive thing, or a hands and fingers thing, or something else entirely, but Tom was simply very adverse to having his face touched most of the time. Some places were alright, Harry knew. Like the parts of the jaw closer to the ear, and most of the area along the hairline. But to remove _ contact lenses, _ there would need to be a lot of touching, and Harry wasn't sure how Tom would be able to cope with that much touching at once.

Tom shifted on the spot, scrunching his face up. "You can't keep these contacts in. It's been too long; it's _ unsanitary_. We have to take them out. We have to."

"Um," Harry said. "Okay. I can try, I guess?"

"Good." Tom squinted. "Good. But do you think you can… not touch my face while you do it?"

God. Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "You are a big baby," Harry said. "The contacts could last if you left them in. But I will try my best to not touch your face, because I respect the fact that you hate it."

Tom nodded and took a step closer. Then he glanced around, likely trying to puzzle out how they ought to do this.

"You're going to have to relax, first of all," Harry told him. "And I think it will be easier if you hold your own eye open, and I just take the lens out. That way I don't have to touch."

"Right." Tom crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, then shuffled another step forwards.

"God," Harry said aloud. "Okay, maybe you should sit on the bed, and I can hover over and brace my hand on the back of your head. My head. Whatever."

Tom went and sat down. "Which eye first?"

"Uhhh. Let's do the left eye first. I'll be better with my right hand."

"I'm ambidextrous."

"Tom," Harry said warningly. "Do you want these out or not?"

"Fine, fine." Tom lifted a hand up towards his left eye, his face twisting in distaste.

"Wait, let me move into position first—" Harry moved in front, so that he was standing in between Tom's legs. His own legs. "This is so _ weird _," he muttered.

Tom was frowning as he looked up. "I don't think this is going to work. You're too short."

"I am _ not_," Harry said. "You're just too tall. Abnormally tall. Did you know I almost tripped going up the stairs this morning? Fucking long legs."

Tom snorted at that, and Harry did as well. Then they stared at each other for a moment, because the dual action had been alarming.

"I think you'll have to… straddle me," Tom said eventually. "Because of the height difference."

"If this was literally any other day, I would call you out on being horny," Harry said. "But today we are blessed with a worse horror than my temper and your inability to keep it in your pants."

And so Harry clambered on carefully, trying to avoid an accidental face plant onto his own body. Then he braced one hand on the back of Tom's head, testing the position out.

"This is bad," Harry said. "This is very bad and weird."

"It's not that bad," Tom said, though he was eyeing Harry's other hand with a look of trepidation. "You're really very fit, Harry—"

"Nope," Harry said. "Not doing this right now. Open up my damn eye."

There was another pause, but then Tom obliged, and Harry bent his head down a bit, trying to decide what the best angle of attack was that would allow for minimal touching.

"Hurry up," Tom hissed out from between his clenched jaw.

"I'm trying!" Harry said. He lifted his hand up, inching his fingers towards the eyeball, and then—

The door swung open with a soft smack, and Harry jolted so hard that his heart must have skipped at least half a dozen beats in a row.

"Oh, fuck," said Lucius, hand over his eyes. "Sorry! Sorry! I just left my binder here."

Then Harry realized what they must look like: Tom's body half on top of Harry's, with their hands awkwardly positioned over Harry's face and head.

"Fucking Christ," Tom said, his face flushing. "Get the fuck out, Lucius."

The door slammed shut, and Harry slid off of Tom's lap and flopped over onto the bed with a groan. "I am dead now. Dead. I hate everything and everyone and it is well past time for me to die peacefully."

"Harry," Tom said urgently. "Harry, you still need to take the contacts out. You can die afterwards."

Tom was shaking his arm, which was annoying because Harry just wanted the shock from earlier to have killed him already so he would never have to suffer ever again. But he sat up anyways, because Tom wouldn't let him perish until he got up and did the thing.

They resumed their previous position, and Harry positioned a thumb and forefinger hesitantly in the gap in front of his eyeball. He turned his hand this way and that a few times while Tom watched him dither.

"I think this will be easier if you lie down underneath me," Harry said, pulling back. "Then your head won't be moving as much."

Tom's lips twitched, his eyes glinting.

"No," Harry said firmly. He didn't need to recognize the expression to know what Tom was thinking. "None of that. Just lie down so I can get on top—"

At this, Tom snorted aloud, but he said nothing as he swung his legs up and onto the bed, lying back as instructed.

Harry settled on top, his hips pointedly avoiding the groin area, and leant forward to hover again, now with one hand braced on the pillow next to Tom's head.

"After all the effort I put into your hair," Tom said, mournful.

"Hush," said Harry. "Try again now."

So Tom pried his eye open, and Harry lifted his right hand up to Tom's face. It was steadier now, but his hand was still awkwardly hovering without anything to stabilize it. Harry sighed and pulled away again.

"Tom," Harry said. "I am really, really sorry, but I don't think this is going to work. I need to brace at least one finger on your face, or else I'm going to risk taking your eye out. My eye out."

"Hngh," Tom said, his mouth flattening out. "Alright. Alright, alright just. Just do it."

Harry placed the ring finger of his right hand onto Tom's cheekbone.

Tom twitched, but he held still, and Harry was able to pinch out the lens with some speed. "Got it," he said, holding it up.

Tom exhaled, and the hot air washed over Harry's jaw and neck. "One more," Tom said. "One more and then it's done."

After a repeat flinch and pinch, Harry dumped both lenses into the garbage. "I have extras at home," he said to Tom's questioning look. "Now where are my glasses? I'll hand them over to you."

Tom took too long to answer. Too long. To answer. Horror washed over Harry as he realized that, as someone with perfect vision, of _ course _ Tom had not remembered to bring his glasses.

"About... that..." Tom said as he sat up, enunciating the syllables one at a time.

"I hate you," Harry said. "Though you are the one who has to suffer, I guess I can't be too mad. You went and did this to yourself. But now we have to bus all the way back to my house—"

"Fuck," Tom said in a tone of wonder. "This isn't a dream, is it? This is actually happening."

"Well spotted." Harry stood up and picked up Tom's bookbag. "Here, you take this and take your keys. And give me my phone back."

They swapped devices, though Harry noted Tom kept narrowing his eyes at everything. Was that what he looked like when he squinted at stuff? He looked idiotic.

"Take my arm and we'll leave," Harry said, not wanting Tom to fall down a flight of stairs and land his body in the emergency.

"This is like the blind leading the blind," Tom complained, but he allowed Harry to tow him out of the room. "And you should have changed clothes first. Can we go back?"

"I can see, you twat." Harry looked down both ends of the hallway. "We are not going back. And we better not run into anyone on our way out."

"We better not fall down the stairs because I can't see and you don't know how to be tall."

"We'll take the elevator," Harry said tensely.

* * *

Despite the double impairment of Tom's poor eyesight and Harry's unaccustomed leg length, they both made it to the bus stop in one piece. Tom clutched his book bag closer, just to make sure it was there. He would have liked to check his phone, but he was a bit afraid of what he would find. Had Harry seen all of the texts that Tom had sent to Lucius last night?

Surely not. Harry wasn't the kind of person who pried without asking.

But what if Lucius had given it all away? Tom wanted to ask Harry what had happened, but he wasn't sure how to do so without arousing suspicion. And what about his apology? Had Harry read it? Harry certainly didn't seem mad anymore, but that could be due to the fact that they had larger issues to deal with at the moment.

To Tom's left, Harry was looking at his own phone, fingers moving across the screen. Only Harry kept missing the keys—likely because Tom's hands were larger than his own and weren't used to his phone model—and swearing under his breath as he hit the backspace repeatedly.

"Who are you texting?" Tom asked.

"Just telling Ron and Hermione that I'm going to be busy today. Because, y'know. Problems."

Hmph. Tom glanced up the road. Still no bus. "How long til the bus arrives?"

"Check it yourself," Harry said absently. "Stop number is right there."

Tom scowled and looked up the road a second time. "Your eyesight really is terrible, Harry."

"And you're a long-limbed giant. We can't all be perfect."

Tom shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He hadn't been able to find any dress shoes at Harry's home before he'd had to leave, and so he had settled on black sneakers. As he stared at his blurry shoes, he noted that the ground was now closer. Because Harry was shorter.

"Hey," Harry said, nudging Tom's ribs. "Bus is here."

They boarded the bus, swiped their passes, and made a beeline for the back. Tom settled into the window seat, tugging his bag onto his lap. Harry finally put his phone away and turned to look at Tom.

"How are we going to fix this?"

Tom didn't have an answer prepared for this, but he wanted to, because Harry did look borderline frightened despite trying to hide it, and it was supposed to be Tom's job to reassure him.

"We'll figure it out," Tom promised. "I think we could begin to retrace our steps yesterday."

"That always works in movies," Harry said, though he still sounded glum.

"Precisely," Tom said, injecting some confidence into his voice. He placed a hand on Harry's knee and gave it a squeeze. "We'll figure out what happened."

Harry offered a nervous smile and settled his hand on top of Tom's. "This is still really weird, you know that right? Half of my brain keeps trying to tell me I'm talking to _ myself_, and the other half that recognizes all of your mannerisms is having a meltdown. Or an existential crisis. I haven't decided yet."

"We're both very attractive, and we're quite comfortable with each other, so it's not like it's the end of the world," Tom mused.

"Tom. I feel the need to remind you that none of this is normal."

"I know that. But it's, you know, interesting." Tom shrugged his shoulders, unbothered. "Being you. It's a bit fun, isn't it?"

Harry was gaping. "What about any of this is fun? What if we're stuck like this forever?"

"Not the end of the world," Tom repeated. "There are worse people to be, and it's not as though it affects our relationship with each other. I still find you attractive, and really, Harry, you should learn to think a little more highly of yourself—"

"Gah. Gah!" Harry leant back dramatically in the bus seat, slapping a hand over his face. "How can you still be this narcissistic in _ my body_?"

Tom rolled his eyes, but he was pleased that Harry seemed to have mellowed out from his previous anxiety. Incredulity was a better state of mind to be in.

"We are _ not _ fucking like this," Harry added a moment later.

Tom only raised an eyebrow in return, and he received a death glare for his troubles. Sex wasn't… on his mind. But the idea of it was there, _ plus _ Harry kept bringing it up.

Shortly after Harry's declaration, they arrived at their stop. Harry stumbled down the aisle like a newborn colt while Tom followed at a more sedate pace. Harry's home was approximately a five minute walk from the bus stop, which gave them some time to sort out their behaviour.

"Before we go into your house, I think we need to establish some behavioural rules," Tom said. "So we don't see a repeat of what happened this morning. Your father mentioned he was working from home today, and he's bound to notice if you start acting out of character."

Harry nodded. "Right. Okay. What do I need to do?"

Tom placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and tilted it back. "Posture, first of all. You slump without realizing it."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry waved it off, though his spine did straighten out some. "You're a stick. What else?"

"Enunciate your words," Tom added. "Less slang, fewer contractions. And I know this is difficult for you, but you need to sound more confident. No hesitation, Harry. You have to mean what you say."

"Posh git," Harry said. "Check."

Tom sighed and maneuvered himself so they were both stopped on the sidewalk, Harry facing him. "Chin up," Tom added, placing the tips of his fingers along the edge of his jaw and tilting Harry's head upwards. He stared for a moment, searching for the pieces of Harry that were simmering just beneath the surface of his own physical exterior. It was nothing like looking in a mirror, Tom decided. It was absolutely, irrevocably different.

Harry's breathing had stuttered to a stop at their sudden proximity, and Tom was once again reminded of Harry's requests that they not engage in any overly-romantic behaviours. Tom was sure that he'd be able to convince Harry otherwise with some well-worded phrases and a bit of casual touching…

"Tom," Harry said.

The sound of his name in his own voice made him blink. "Sorry," Tom said. "Lost in my thoughts. You know, it may be better if you don't say anything at all around your father."

Harry grabbed Tom's hand, pulling it down, and then he resumed walking, tugging Tom along. "You talk too much, so I don't think so. He'll be more suspicious if you don't say anything, especially because he knows we had a fight yesterday."

Tom twisted his hand around and laced their fingers together. "Well, I can tell him we're here to have a talk, and then he'd be sure to leave us be for at least an hour or so."

Harry grimaced. "And will we? Be having a talk."

Tom held back the urge to bite down on his lower lip. Harry's hand was very warm in his. They had fought because Harry wanted boundaries, wanted space. And Tom was still—still _ pushing _ things, because he couldn't help himself.

"I suppose," he said at last.

Harry, perceptive as ever, must have noted Tom's change in mood, because he gave Tom's hand a gentle squeeze. "We don't have to until all this is sorted out."

Tom chanced a glance in Harry's direction. The soft, empathetic smile draped across those lips was wholly Harry, and had little to do with the fact that it was sitting on his own face. It was the sort of smile that had prompted Tom to make Harry his to begin with.

"You're important to me," Harry said. "We'll figure this out. All of it."

Tom replayed the words a few times, like the statement was a voice recording stored only in his head. "We will," Tom said.

They were now approaching the front lawn of the Potter house. Two stories tall, rustic and warm, cheerful flowers dotted on either side of the path that led up to the door.

"Keys," Harry said.

Tom retrieved the keys he'd taken with him this morning, then jerked his hand out of the way as Harry tried to take them. "You can't open the door, remember?"

Harry blinked. "Right," he muttered. "Okay, hurry up and try not to miss the lock too many times."

"I can open a door," Tom said. But he was careful to stoop down a bit as he aimed for the lock opening. The key slid in and the door opened.

Harry leant in and peered over Tom's shoulder. "Maybe if we're quiet, we can avoid—"

"Back so soon, Harry? And you brought Tom with you!"

Tom jumped backwards as James Potter swung into view of the front hall, bright eyed and smiling at the boy who he still thought was his son.

* * *

A/N:

today's end note is brought to you by a dialogue snippet that i wrote during the initial conception of this story over a month ago:

**harry, having five million spirals at once:** tom...  
**tom, feeling up harry's abs:** yeah what is it  
**harry, catching on:** tom, NO, we are NOT fucking like this  
**tom:** but harry, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity


	4. Ron Weasley vs Furniture

A/N:

university life is hard when your friends are horny.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Ron Weasley vs. Furniture**

* * *

James had changed clothes since Tom had seen him this morning, because he was now wearing formal upperwear—dress shirt, tie—in addition to the zebra-striped sweatpants and pink rabbit slippers.

"Skype video call with the Longbottoms about the new firm?" Harry asked.

Tom elbowed Harry, just a bit, and Harry's mouth snapped shut before he could add anything else more incriminating. This wasn't news to Tom, as the Skype call had been all James talked about all morning, but it was likely odd for Tom Riddle to display such a high level of knowledge about James Potter's work life.

"Yeah! How'd you know—oh, nevermind. Harry told you, didn't he? Well, anyways, they're going ahead with the building plans for the new firm in America, and Alice has been sending me all these really cool previews! Wanna see?" James wandered away to the living room, and so they had no choice but to follow.

"Look!" James lifted his laptop up, and Tom could see the digital previews of a building plan.

"Looks really cool," Tom said, trying to mimic the tone and level of enthusiasm.

"Right?" James swung the laptop around to beam at the screen again. "Alice is so talented." They all stood there a while longer with James staring at the laptop. "Oh," James added, looking back over. "Did you two want some lunch or snacks or something?"

"We're fine," Tom said. "Just going to go upstairs, if that's okay."

James eyed them, his gaze lingering on the jeans and hoodie that made up Tom's outfit. "Sure, sure. Don't mind me, I'll just be down here, making no noise, pretending that I don't exist!"

Harry snorted, though the sound was clearly being restrained.

"Alright," Tom said, now attempting to rein in his own amusement. "Have fun."

"Will do!"

Harry and Tom made their way upstairs to Harry's room. Once inside, Harry shut and locked the door, then made a beeline for his dresser, where he retrieved his glasses and held them out for Tom to take.

Tom slid them on, and the world once again became focused. "Fascinating."

"Sure," Harry said, sardonic. Then he went and opened up his closet, rifling through. After a while of searching, he pulled out an oversized jumper, which he tossed onto his bed. Then Harry proceeded to strip himself of the hoodie he was wearing, replacing it with said oversized jumper. The jumper was a pastel blue colour, cable-knit, and had a large embroidered patch of a polar bear attached to the front.

Tom had to admit that despite the fact that it was not at all his style, it did look rather adorable. Though perhaps that was born from his fondness for Harry combined with his fondness for seeing Harry in soft articles of clothing.

"Much better," Harry said, seating himself on the bed and stretching his arms out. "This is why I only borrow your jackets, Tom, because everything else you own is rigid."

Tom wasn't offended by this, so he shrugged. "Is there anything else we need here?"

"Um." Harry scanned the room. "I don't think so?"

"Are you sure? I don't want to have to come back."

Harry frowned, then stood up. "Hold on," Harry said. He walked closer and closer, until he was only an arm's length away from Tom, the two of them facing each other.

Tom found himself holding his breath, waiting to see what would happen. Was Harry going to kiss him? He was no longer sure he was mentally prepared for such a thing, but he still wanted to know what it felt like.

Harry's hands went up, slowly, slowly, up to the level of Tom's head, the fingers curling inwards, and then—

Harry _ attacked. _

That was the only apt description, because Harry had stuck his hands into Tom's hair and systematically proceeded to utterly ruin the entire look that Tom had spent twenty-five minutes crafting this morning.

Tom squawked, trying to duck away, only it didn't work because his body was taller than Harry's, which made it impossible to move to a point where his head was no longer vulnerable. Harry only had to chase after, caging Tom backwards with his larger form.

"This is for your own good!" Harry said, crowding Tom towards the back of the room. "It's for my own good, too, come to think of it. If my dad ever thinks I want to get into hair products, he will never let me rest."

"James Potter has _ good taste_," Tom responded, wheezing as Harry pinned him against the wall with one arm. Harry's free hand was still working hard to disturb Tom's hair beyond repair.

With one last ruffle, Harry released Tom from his torture and took a step back.

"When I imagine you pinning me to the wall, that was not on the list of things I wanted you to do," Tom said grumpily.

"You deserved this," Harry repeated.

Tom walked over to the mirror on the adjoining wall to examine himself. To examine Harry's body. Harry followed him, looming over his shoulder.

A moment of silent contemplation passed as they watched their reflected selves. "I've decided," Tom said, "that your jumper does look rather adorable on me."

"Because you can pull anything off, is that right?" Harry asked, teasing.

Tom reached behind for Harry's arms—his own arms—and pulled them around, so that the image of Tom was holding the image of Harry in an embrace. "Because it's yours."

Harry set his chin on the top of Tom's head. "I suppose you did do a nice job with my hair. But never again, do you hear me? I'm not about to wake up any earlier than I have to."

Just then, Harry's phone rang. Harry retrieved it from his back pocket and stared at the screen for a moment.

"Who is it?" Tom asked.

Harry was still looking blankly down at the display. "It's Hermione. Or Ron. Or both of them."

"I thought you told them you were busy today?"

"I did!" Harry said, panic creeping into his voice. "I did tell them that! I don't know why they're calling me."

Tom frowned for a moment, then snatched the phone out of Harry's hand. "I'll put them on speaker, but you'll have to be silent and cue me on what to say."

Harry bit down on his lower lip. "Tom. You and I are terrible at charades together."

"Then—I don't know!—get a pen and paper!" Tom said, making a frantic gesture for Harry to be quiet as he hit the 'answer call' button.

"Harry? Harry are you there? Sorry, I know you're busy but—" It was Hermione Granger's voice crackling through the phone. There was a lot of wind in the background, and then her voice became clear again. "Ron's. Um… Ron's got his arm stuck behind my dresser."

"What?" Tom said, before he could think better of it. "Isn't there _ anyone else _ you can call?"

Harry now had a pen and sheet of loose leaf paper in hand, poised to write a response out.

"Well, no!" Hermione said. Then she huffed a few times, muttering something inaudible under her breath. "It's just. Well. Ron and I—"

"For fuck's sake Hermione," Ron said, his voice distant in the background. "Just get to the point already! It's just Harry!"

"We were..." Hermione inhaled, then continued, "We were about to have sex, you see, and then _ someone _ went and dropped _something_ behind my dresser, and then—"

"I get the picture," Tom said, cutting her off, his face warming. He glanced over at Harry, whose eyes had gone wide. Why wasn't Harry _ writing _ anything?

Then Harry started laughing. Not loudly, and he at least had the sense to cover his mouth to muffle the sound of it. Only that wasn't _ helpful_, because these were not Tom's friends, and therefore he had no idea how to respond.

"Have you… have you tried using lotion?" Tom asked, rather desperately.

"Of course I did!" Hermione said in a pitched tone. "It didn't work. And I'm not strong enough to lift the dresser on my own, and there's no one else we're going to ask to… to see us like this! So it has to be you Harry, and I'm really sorry, but we'll owe you for this, I promise."

"Tell Harry that if I lose my arm before he gets here I'm not going to owe him shit!"

Harry was now lying on the floor, curled on his side, the sleeve of his jumper jammed into his mouth while he giggled. It was undignified.

"We'll be over shortly," Tom said. "Don't do anything stupid until we get there."

"We?" Ron asked. "Are you with Tom still? That smarmy git—"

"Okay, good bye!" Hermione said, full of forced cheer, and then she hung up.

Harry sat up, wiping tears from his eyes. "That was hysterical," Harry gasped. "Your face! I mean, _ my face_, but it was hysterical. God, your reaction. I wish I could be sure that I'm going to remember this moment forever."

"You're delusional," Tom said to him. "And absolutely unhelpful."

"You love me," Harry said, beaming. "Looks like we're headed back to campus again."

* * *

"You owe _ me _ for this," Tom said as they approached the door to the building of Hermione's flat.

It had taken them much longer to return to campus, namely because they had turned the corner of the street perpendicular to the one where Harry lived just in time to see the bus pulling up. And so they had ran, trying to catch it, only they hadn't actually tried _ running _ until just then, meaning that their new gaits were different, meaning that Harry had accidentally sent them both sprawling onto the sidewalk.

"You're fine," Harry said. "You landed on top of me."

"You still have to look after my body while you're in it!" Tom exclaimed.

"Oh, hm. I guess you're right about that," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But it's not as though I fell over on purpose. You're just a giraffe. What point is there in being so high up off the ground? Do you even get enough air up here?"

Tom chose not to dignify this with a response. "Anyhow, is there anything I should know before we see your friends?"

"I'm hoping that they'll be so embarrassed about all this that once Ron gets his arm out, we can just leave right away," Harry admitted.

"Wonderful plan," Tom drawled. "Remind me why I've agreed to do this?"

"I'll pay for lunch after," Harry decided. "How about that?"

"I don't suppose you could come in with me."

Harry raised his brows. "Would _ you _ want to come in with me, if we were doing this normally?"

"No," Tom admitted.

They took the elevator up to Hermione's floor. Harry scouted the hallways, his longer strides enabling him to stay ahead and keep an eye out for anyone they might know. When they finally reached the door to Hermione's room, Harry paused and turned to face Tom.

"This is going to go awfully no matter what, because there is no way you'll be able to pull off acting like me in this situation, so your best bet is to just pretend like you really need to leave and are annoyed you had to come out here for this."

"Why can't your friends have sex during normal hours," Tom grumbled. "Why during the day when decent people are hard at work?"

Harry snorted at this, then slapped a hand over his mouth. "God, Tom," he said through the muffled cover of his palm. "Let's just get this over with."

"You don't understand," Tom insisted. "You live at home. When your neighbours are having sex at 2 am, you _ can't hear them through the walls_."

"Okay," Harry said. "That's very fair."

Tom looked at the door. "Do I knock?"

Harry hesitated. "I guess in this particular situation, yes. I'm just going to wait out here. If you need me, um, I'm not sure what you could do to get my attention, actually. At least, not without giving it away. But if this takes more than say, fifteen minutes? I'll just barge in and steal you away. That ought to be fine."

Tom knocked on the door as Harry moved out of sight of the door frame. "Hermione?" Tom asked.

The door cracked open. "Oh, thank god." Hermione's face melted into an expression of relief. "Is Tom with you?"

"Over here," Harry said from where he was standing a generous distance away from the door.

"He's staying out there, but you can come in, Harry."

Hermione stepped back, and Tom walked automatically into the room. Ron was there, arm pinned behind the dresser, blanket draped half-heartedly over his torso. Only there was something else that equally as confusing as the sight of Ron bent over the wooden surface and smushed against the wall.

'Why aren't—why aren't you wearing a shirt?" Tom asked Hermione, befuddled.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. Over her bra, because that was the only top she was wearing at the moment. "As you can see, Ron wasn't able to put a shirt on due to his… _ predicament… _ and so he insisted that, as a show of solidarity, I do the same thing."

"Then why is We—why is Ron wearing a blanket?"

"Because he's an idiot. I already told him it's nothing you haven't seen before, but he seems to think someone else might walk in on us or something."

"I'm just cold!" Ron protested. "Harry took so long to get here."

"Let's just… get this over with," Tom said, walking over to the dresser. "I have to get back to Tom."

"I can take the other side," Hermione said helpfully, positioning herself on the side of the dresser where Ron was trapped.

"On three," Tom said. "One, two, three—!"

The dresser was _ heavy_, but with their combined efforts the wood lifted and shifted away from the wall.

Ron pulled his arm free with a loud gasp and landed backwards on his arse. "Thank fuck," Ron said, raising his pale limb to examine it. "That was the worst hour of my entire life. I think I'm bleeding here, come to think of it."

"You're a baby," Hermione said, but Tom noted that she already had a bottle of alcohol in hand, ready to disinfect the cut. "If only you hadn't kept squirming—"

"So can I go?" Tom asked, already shifting back towards the door. Normally, he wouldn't have asked, but this was Harry and these were Harry's friends, and so a modicum of deference was probably owed.

Ron frowned, glancing over. "Yeah, I guess. Are you and Tom alright, though? He's not being a jerk, is he? I'll fight him for you. He doesn't have five older brothers, so I can take him no problem."

"If anyone is kicking anyone's ass, it'll be Harry," Hermione said fondly, now dabbing at the cut on Ron's arm. Ron hissed, flinching, but kept his arm still while she worked.

"Right," Tom said stiffly. "It'll be me. So you two are fine? I'm just going to go…"

Ron frowned some more. "Really, Harry? Are you sure? We can make up an excuse if you like. Hermione can tell Tom to go away if you need some space right now, and then I can drop you off at your place on my way home."

"It's fine," Tom insisted, continuing to edge his way backwards. "There aren't any problems."

Hermione straightened up. "Harry," she said firmly. "We've talked about this. You can't just let him walk all over you! It isn't healthy to bottle things up like this. You need space, and he isn't letting you have it! You have to learn to tell him no."

"I just need to talk things out with him," Tom corrected, the words hasty, his discomfort increasing by the second. "Things are fine, really. Can I please go?"

Both Ron and Hermione still looked as though they wanted to protest, so Tom stumbled until his back hit the door. Then he turned around, twisted the knob open, and fled into the hallway.

Harry startled as Tom appeared. "To—I mean—" Harry cursed, then tried again, "is everything—?"

Hermione's hand came to clamp down upon Tom's shoulder, her fingers gripping tightly as she came up behind him.

"Everything is perfectly fine, Tom," she said. "Thank you for stopping by. Harry was able to help me move the dresser out. It's only that I just remembered we have a group project due at midnight tonight, and so Harry needs to stay to help us work on it!"

"I don't have anything," Tom tried to protest, but Hermione's hand was like a concrete weight.

"Um," Harry said. "Harry and I were supposed to go grab lunch."

"Again, very sorry, but this project is very important, it's worth a lot of marks, and Harry needs to be here." Hermione's voice, dripping saccharine, was practically diabolical. Tom wouldn't have thought she had it in her to lie outright like that.

Tom stared at Harry, wordlessly pleading for Harry to _ do something_, because anything that he attempted as Harry would only serve to further increase Hermione's suspicion that something was wrong.

"We sort of really need to talk, though," Harry said weakly. "Can't it wait just an hour or something?"

"Nope," Hermione said, smiling. "Can't wait. Must happen now. If we finish early, then I will be sure to send him your way."

"Um," Harry said again.

"Bye for now," Hermione said, still cheerful, and then she reeled Tom back into her room and slammed the door shut in Harry's horrified face.


	5. Leave a Message, Make it Hot

A/N:

fluffiness and feels. tom and harry have had a rough morning.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Leave a Message, Make it Hot**

* * *

"I'm going to put a shirt on, and then we are all going to have a talk," Hermione said, moving to her Ron-free dresser and opening the top drawer.

"This really isn't necessary," Tom said. "I can just leave right now."

"Mate, you need to set some ground rules in your relationship," Ron said. He had put his own shirt back on, thankfully, and was lounging on Hermione's bed.

Tom itched to grab his phone from his back pocket and text Harry to get him out of here. Harry _would _come and get him out of here, right? Harry wouldn't just abandon him to this very awkward conversation.

"Harry, I think you and Tom are a little… codependent," Hermione said. She was now wearing a large white t-shirt with 'nevertheless, she persisted' written on it in thick, bold lettering. "You spend a lot of time together, and you're always texting him when you aren't together."

"We don't," Tom said.

But then again, they did text a lot. He texted Harry all the time, especially when he was in class and was bored, or whenever his friends did something particularly idiotic that he thought only Harry would enjoy hearing about.

It was perfectly normal to want to share things about his day with Harry, and Harry always responded within a decent amount of time with a good amount of enthusiasm. Tom liked and appreciated the fact that Harry gave him a lot of attention, and he thought he had been doing a proper job of getting that appreciation across, but maybe he'd been mistaken.

As if on cue, Tom's phone buzzed in his back pocket. Probably Harry, he thought. Probably Harry panicking and asking what to do.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "See? He can't even go a minute without bothering you. You can't honestly tell me you think this is healthy."

"He isn't bothering me," Tom protested. "He's just concerned about me."

"Yeah, 'cause he's your boyfriend," Ron said. "But that doesn't mean he should be eating up all your attention."

Tom stood there, unsure what to say or do. He didn't want to do Harry a disservice by giving a less-than-honest answer, and he wasn't sure if he even knew what the correct answer was anymore.

"Tom… knows the space issue needs to be addressed," Tom said, drawing the words out at a glacial pace. "We were going to talk about it before you kidnapped me."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "From the way you were acting, Harry, that didn't seem to be the case. What it _looked like _was Tom just acting like he normally does, and you just going along with it. You've already spent most of the morning together. You _still _haven't figured this out?"

"We were distracted," Tom said, which was the truth. "Some other things came up."

"Things like what?" Ron asked.

"Lucius Malfoy," Tom said. "He came by Tom's room after their Psychology class to talk about Narcissa and their relationship troubles." It was awkward to talk about himself in third person, but Tom hoped it sounded natural enough to avoid arousing more suspicion.

"Uh huh." Hermione did not sound fully convinced. "And do you know what you plan to talk to Tom about?"

"Yes," Tom said immediately, because any hesitation would be blood in the water for Hermione to scent. "I do. Now can I please leave? Or are you going to continue to hold me here against my will?"

Hermione bit down on her lip, reluctance colouring her expression. "We only want what's best for you, Harry. I'm sure Tom means well, and I know that you care for him a great deal. But you can't let that care cloud your judgement when it comes to making decisions that affect you both."

"I won't," Tom said. "I promise, Hermione."

Ron sighed. "Just don't let this go sideways because you want to keep holding on, Harry. You know you have a tendency to keep stuff to yourself, and it never ends well for anybody."

Tom didn't say anything to that, because he was now deeply uncomfortable with the entire situation. Being part of the personal conversations Harry had with his friends was a breach of privacy, only Tom was caught between two equally disastrous alternatives when it came to getting himself out of here.

He wasn't about to confess to having swapped bodies of all things, because they would surely think he was mad, but he also wasn't about to give an answer that would dishonour Harry's voice on this subject. Whatever he said here couldn't be taken back.

Then, miraculously, there was a knock at the door.

"Bet you a fiver it's Tom," Ron said, though he sounded more amused than irritated.

Hermione stood with a sigh and unlocked the door.

Harry was there, head high, shoulders back, mouth curled ostentatiously. "If you're quite done with kidnapping my boyfriend," Harry said. "I'd like to take him to lunch."

Tom's lips titled into a smile. His Harry, brave as an entire pride of lions. "I think we're done here," Tom said, brushing invisible lint off of Harry's slacks. "Thank you for the talk."

"Text you later," Ron said meaningfully. "I can still pick you up if you need me to."

"Thanks," Tom repeated.

Harry stepped forward to grasp his arm, and Tom allowed himself to be pulled from the room, noting how stiff Harry's body was.

As soon as they were on the other side of the closed door, the tension melted out of Harry's shoulders almost immediately. "God," said Harry. "Most difficult minute of my life." His hand dropped away, and Tom found himself missing the lack of contact.

"You performed admirably," Tom told him. "Very impressive."

"What did they say?" Harry asked as they made their way back to the lift.

"Asking after our relationship troubles," Tom said. "I managed to skirt around most of it."

Harry exhaled, his hand rising to ruffle his hair. A nervous habit that had transferred from Harry's body to Tom's. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. They really do mean well."

"I know they do," Tom said, taking Harry's hand in his, wanting to touch, to convey what he felt. "So you've nothing to be sorry for."

Harry smiled at that, a real smile that lit up his eyes, and Tom rubbed a thumb reassuringly over the back of Harry's hand.

"Let's have lunch," Harry said. "My treat."

* * *

They ended up going for burgers at a restaurant a short walk from campus, much to Tom's dismay. Harry got to watch as Tom unfolded one of the large paper napkins and draped it over his lap.

"I'm not going to get this dirty," Tom grumbled as Harry grinned at him.

"You're adorable," Harry said. Then he took a sip of his chocolate milkshake. "But I appreciate you keeping my only set of formal clothes in good condition."

Harry knew that Tom took very good care of his things—a habit borne of growing up in an orphanage, likely, and also a part of why Tom preferred luxuries to basics. If Tom was only going to own a few things, then they would be _nice _things, and he would make sure they were kept in pristine condition.

Tom braced his elbows on the table, leaning in. "I am looking _very _adorable at the moment," he said, smirking as he cocked his head to the side, leaving no doubt as to who he thought was the adorable one.

Harry flushed at the implication. "Tom," he said, then paused, because he wasn't sure where he'd been going with his reprimand.

"I'm only being honest," Tom replied, flippant.

Harry took a bite of his burger to occupy his scattered brain. It was weird to think about kissing when they were like this—though Tom seemed to be all for it, for whatever reason. It was almost flattering, in a roundabout way, that Tom still wanted to romance him while they were in this odd state.

"You know," Harry said, after he'd swallowed his mouthful. "I'm surprised you haven't been twisting this situation more to your advantage."

Tom straightened, interested. "How so?"

Oops. Now he'd gone and prodded the sleeping dragon. "Like, you know," Harry made a vague gesture at Tom's body. "You have me. You already messed with my hair and my clothes, but I figured you'd be getting more creative."

"Hmm." Tom leant back, reclining in the booth. "That does sound like something I ought to be taking advantage of."

Harry sat, waiting, only Tom didn't say anything further. So Harry resumed eating, occasionally lifting his gaze back to Tom, who remained silent, an air of thoughtfulness draped over him.

Then Tom sat back up, stretching a hand over the table. "Pass me your phone."

"What for?" Harry asked, though he was already reaching into his pocket and delivering his phone into Tom's waiting hands.

Tom unlocked it and opened up their message history. Then he leant back against the booth again, and Harry could no longer see what was happening.

"I'm just going to call myself," Tom said. "Don't worry, I won't look at anything else."

That wasn't the issue. Harry trusted Tom to not go poking about. It was only that he was curious—and a little suspicious—as to what Tom was planning on doing.

Tom scrolled a little longer, then cleared this throat, lifting the phone to his ear.

There was the echo of Harry's phone ringing, ringing, ringing. Then the sound of Tom's voicemail answering. Tom always had his phone on silent or do not disturb, regardless of where he was. Tom had said multiple times that Harry was the only person he really cared to respond to in a timely manner.

"Hey Tom," Tom said in Harry's voice. "Just a friendly reminder that you are the best, most perfect boyfriend in the entire world, and I adore you with every fiber of my being."

"Predictable," Harry said, then took another sip of his milkshake.

Tom frowned, then rang himself up again. They sat through another iteration of the voicemail, and then Tom held the phone out in front of his mouth, brow set in concentration.

"Tom, I think you are truly the most intelligent man on the face of the planet. Society is blessed with your very presence, and I shall aim to support you in all of your endeavours for the rest of my days."

Harry smiled fondly, sucking down on the milkshake straw so that the loud noise echoed ominously at the end of Tom's sentence before Tom could hang up.

Tom narrowed his eyes. Harry beamed back, innocent.

"Let's return to my dorm," Tom said, though he did not hand Harry's phone back over. "Since that was the last place we saw each other yesterday."

* * *

All along the walk back, Tom recorded more voicemails, each of them more ridiculous than the last. Harry tuned most of it out, only interjecting here and there with a casual comment. He could tell Tom was trying to get a rise out of him, and he wasn't about to let that happen. So the game continued, with Tom struggling to come up with more ways for 'Harry' to declare his undying devotion for Tom's perfection.

"Harry, what's another synonym for 'perfect'?" Tom asked.

They were now pulling up to Tom's building, and Harry fumbled with his student ID for a moment while he tried to think of an answer. "Um, how about 'flawless'?"

"No, I used that one already."

"Incredible? Wonderful? Incomparable? Ideal?"

"No, I used all those as well."

Harry unlocked the door and pushed it open, holding it as Tom strolled through. "How many are we at now?" Harry asked.

"Twenty voicemails and counting," Tom said, pulling out his own phone to check. "You could have a go next, if you like."

"You're incorrigible. Next time you ask me to say something nice, I'm going to tell you to check your voicemail."

Tom grinned, reaching once again to lace their hands together. Harry huffed, but slid his fingers obligingly into place, and they walked to the lift, joined hands swaying.

"What do you think all this is even about?" Harry asked. "The body swapping."

"Haven't the faintest." Tom shrugged. "I'm hopeful that a retrace of yesterday's events will help prompt some inspiration."

What had they even done yesterday? Harry couldn't quite remember. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Harry had had his Chemistry lab, then lunch with Ron and Hermione, then afternoon Sociology lecture, and then he'd spent the rest of his day with Tom.

"We were only together for the tail end of it," Harry said.

Tom looked up at him. Harry was struck with the sudden intuition that if this had been any other regular day, Tom would have been giving him that same look, only it would have been directed down the length of his nose.

"If this is some kind of… contagion," Tom said, "then we could have picked it up anywhere."

That sounded highly unrealistic. "A contagion that causes people to swap bodies with their significant others?" Harry asked, dubious.

"Your friends may be next," Tom said in a low tone, brow raised.

Harry laughed at this. "Okay, very funny."

"I'm very serious," Tom insisted. "What if your parents switched places?"

"Now _that _would be hilarious," Harry mused. His dad would likely get a huge kick out of getting to be his mum for a day. Much in the way that Tom was… sort of... enjoying himself.

Tom sniffed. Then he dropped Harry's hand so he could unlock the door to his room. "What about your afternoon class?" Tom added. "Am I going to that?"

Harry checked the time on his phone. His art class would be starting in about twenty minutes. For a brief second he was tempted to say yes, just so Tom could go through what he'd suffered in Tom's psychology class, but then he realized that wouldn't actually help them solve anything.

"No," Harry said. "Neville will tell me what I missed."

"Perfect." Tom removed his book bag from his shoulder and set it down on his desk. "So we have the rest of the day to think."

* * *

Thinking didn't go well. After a detailed account of their days was written down and discussed, they were no closer to figuring out what could have caused their current problem. They had lists with bullet points, various ideas written on pieces of loose leaf that Tom had proceeded to tape to his dorm wall, and Harry felt vaguely like a conspiracy theorist, or a detective on a crime show on the telly. Somehow, despite the lack of progress, Tom managed to record five more voicemails.

But Harry had grown increasingly restless with each hour that passed. His nervous habit of running his hands through his hair had dishevelled Tom's locks to levels of disorder previously unknown. But Tom didn't comment on it, didn't complain, and so it was only when Harry stood up to pace and stretch his legs that he caught sight of what he'd done in the mirror.

"I really made a mess of your head," Harry mused, raising a hand to drag his finger through the fringe of Tom's hair.

"You really have," Tom agreed. He was seated on the desk chair, legs crossed in his usual poised way. By contrast, Harry had been lounging around on Tom's bed, changing positions every twenty minutes or so. There had been the brief but notable period in which he'd sat against the wall, legs stretched and propped against the wall, eyes rolled back so he could watch Tom's upside-down expressions as he spoke.

"Must be weird for you to see yourself all casual and the like."

Tom made a non-committal sound. "It doesn't bother me. It's very… you. And that makes it alright."

Harry thought about that, about what it meant. About how Tom took care of the things that mattered to him—about how Tom took care of _him_. Made him laugh, made him smile. Made anxiety melt away with a look or a touch or a word of care.

"It's good, you know," Harry said, soft and careful. "I like how you look, Tom. Nice clothes or not. And I know you take pride in your appearance, but you don't have to look perfect _all _the time. There's beauty in being vulnerable, too."

Tom's face did something funny, his mouth twisting and untwisting. Then he stood up and strode over, pulling Harry into his arms. Because of the height issue, Harry ended up with Tom's face pressed against his neck and shoulder, which was a mostly unfamiliar sensation. Tom's hands wound around his back, fingers settling against the nape of his neck.

"You," said Tom, the words muffled by Harry's polar bear jumper, "are the most perfect boyfriend in the entire world. And I'll be sure to say it when we're back to being ourselves so you can hear it properly."

* * *

A/N:

by the end of this story, will tom succeed in seducing harry? who knows? certainly not me.


	6. Dinner with the Potters

A/N:

tom is only one step away from being adopted by james and lily. all that's stopping them is the fact it would be a little awkward given he's dating their son.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Dinner with the Potters**

* * *

It was then that Tom pulled away, his eyes bright, sparkling, glinting with happiness that sent a warm tingle all the way down to Harry's toes. He could see _Tom _in those eyes, his own eyes, which was a marvel, a wonder, but it all made sense. It made sense that he could see Tom reflected in himself, because they fit together, two sides of the same coin.

"I'd kiss you right now," Tom said, breathy and low, "if you'd let me."

Harry's eyes dropped, unbidden, to Tom's lips. And then he dragged his eyes away, because he still wasn't _sure, _and looking would only give off the wrong impression. "Um," Harry said. "I don't know."

Tom's hand slid down Harry's spine, and then Tom withdrew further, putting more distance between them. "As you wish."

Harry's own hand shot up to grasp Tom's elbow, unwilling for Tom to drift away just yet. "It's not a final no," Harry said deliberately. "But just… not right now."

Tom pressed a hand against Harry's face, stroking his thumb across the cheek. "We'll figure this out, anyhow. And when we do, I will expect a proper kiss then, at the least."

Harry squeezed Tom's elbow in response. "Deal."

They parted then, and Harry checked his phone for the time. It was nearly time for dinner, and he hadn't told his parents that he would be out, which meant that they would be expecting him home.

"It's nearly dinner time," Tom said, voicing Harry's thoughts aloud. "What are we going to do, Harry? Are you going to tell your parents you're spending the night here?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I might have to cancel my study plans tomorrow, too, since it seems like this problem isn't going anywhere any time soon. But hey, wait—maybe after we go to bed tonight it'll fix itself? And we'll wake up in our proper bodies."

"I hadn't thought of that," Tom said, musing. "If that's the case, then it would be better if you spent the night here."

Harry took a deep breath. "I dunno how well that'll go over, if I'm being honest. If it was any other day, sure, but—"

"But we'd just had a row," Tom finished, frowning. "And they won't like you staying over with me when that's just happened."

"Maybe... maybe you could come over? Stay over at mine, I mean. That way they'll know we won't be… y'know, up to anything. But it won't be so awkward for you to pretend all night all by yourself."

"If you think that's best, then that's what we'll do," Tom said. "I don't want to… intrude on your family like that."

"You wouldn't be. My parents like you," Harry insisted. "My dad is always asking when we'll get to play Monopoly again."

Tom's eye twitched. "Your father is a cheater, Harry."

Harry grinned. "Who knows, maybe I'll suggest a game, just so he can finally pull one over you—"

"Don't you _dare,_" Tom said. "I am not losing to him. We have a tally going, Harry. You wouldn't understand it because you never play to win and you spend all your money on the worst properties—"

"I buy the ones with the nice colours," Harry said stubbornly. "And the names that don't offend me."

Tom rubbed at his face. "You refuse to buy the Short Line Railroad only because of its name."

"It's a founding principle of my personality to be offended by it, purely because you and everyone else keeps bullying me about buying it."

"Anyhow, we will _not_ be playing Monopoly tonight, or else _I _will be playing to win, and then you'll have to put up with James expecting you to be competitive for the next month at least."

"A month?" Harry grumbled. "Bold of you to assume my dad gives up that easily. He'll rope Sirius into it, I'm sure. And then they'll start some kind of tournament in which the loser, me, will have to go around wearing crocs for an entire week."

"I may agree to play just so I can see that happen."

Harry raised his brows. "Not if you end up having to wear the crocs," he said. "You? Wearing crocs? Are you really willing to risk that? No socks for an entire week, Tom. Just. The. Crocs."

Tom's face twisted, and Harry suppressed a laugh.

"No Monopoly," Tom said. "Agreed?"

"Sure," Harry said. "I totally buy that you won't be able to resist the call of competition, especially when my dad starts to egg us on."

Tom opened his mouth, probably to protest, but Harry ignored him in favour of retrieving his phone to text his dad that he and Tom would be coming over for dinner.

**Harry:** hey dad, i'm bringing tom over to spend the night if that's ok

**James:** AWESOME TIME TO PLAY MONOPOLY I NEED MY CHAMPION TITLE BACK

**Harry:** oh my god no. we are not doing that

**James:** :D

**Harry:** i regret showing you emojis ever

"Dad says it's fine if you come over," Harry said, tucking his phone away. "You should probably pack a bag so we can leave now."

Tom scrutinized Harry for a minute, then asked, "Did he say anything about Monopoly?"

Harry groaned. "You two are insufferable."

* * *

When they arrived back at the Potter home, James was busy in the kitchen, bright blue apron tied around his waist while he hummed, loudly and off-tune, to the music blaring from the shiny red radio perched on the dining room table. It was a familiar sight that brought a smile to Harry's face. It was going to be difficult to remember he ought to be referring to his parents by name the way that Tom did rather than calling them 'mum' and 'dad'.

"Is mum home yet?" Tom asked, as Harry had instructed him to do.

"ETA is 20 minutes, kiddo!" James called back. "We're having ribs tonight. Can you smell them?"

"Yes," Tom said. "It smells great."

Harry snorted and grabbed Tom's arm. "Tell him you're going to settle me in the guest room," Harry said in a low tone.

Tom repeated the words aloud and got an affirmative from James.

"Sure, sure! Guest room only, alright? And are you staying the whole weekend, Tom? Maybe I could call Sirius and see if he wants to come by tomorrow night…"

"Er, I'm not sure yet," Harry said. "We'll see how tomorrow goes."

"No worries, Tom. You're always welcome here," James said, smiling. "Dinner as soon as Lils gets back, so don't be long upstairs."

"Sounds good," Harry said, already towing Tom towards the stairs. "Thank you."

They escaped to the guest room, where Harry dumped Tom's bag of clothing and toiletries onto the bed. "Can't believe I'm going to be staying in my own guest room."

"You can always stay in your bed with me," Tom said suggestively. "We don't have to _do _anything, but we can share the room."

Harry squinted, trying to discern how serious Tom was. "We'll see," Harry said, after a moment. "I don't want my parents kicking me out of my own house, either. Or grounding me for being a horny bastard."

Tom cracked a grin and sidled closer. Then he widened his eyes and smoothed his expression over. "I'm quite sure your parents would be all too willing to blame me for attempting to seduce their blushing firstborn."

"Stop making me sound like some ingenue." Harry stuck his tongue out and made a gagging sound, miming a barf.

"How unseemly," Tom said, placing his hand over his heart. "My innocent eyes are wailing in fear. Perhaps you ought to remain here in the guest room after all—"

Harry smacked him on the arm. "Boo," he said. "Boo, you suck."

Tom pouted, which was not at all a good look on Harry's face. Harry resolved to never look like that ever again as soon as he was back in control of his own body.

"I relent, I relent," Tom said, looping his arms around Harry's waist and tugging him into an embrace. "Now, how are we going to handle dinner?"

"You're a better actor than I am," Harry said. "So you should just get my parents to talk about their day or something like that. Then they won't ask us any questions. I don't think they'll pry, but we should try and play it safe."

"Fair enough," Tom said. "Let's go have dinner."

But Tom didn't move right away, he only tilted his head a bit to the side, and Harry got the impression that if they had been standing like this as their usual selves, Tom would have planted a kiss on his forehead the way he usually did.

So on pure impulse, Harry closed his eyes and canted forwards, his hands braced on Tom's shoulders as he brushed his lips against Tom's forehead.

Tom's breath fanned out in a soft puff, his fingers clutching against Harry's jumper.

Harry pulled back. "Think of it as a reward for good behaviour," Harry told him.

The side of Tom's mouth curled into a half-smile. "What _else _do I get if I behave?"

Harry deliberately stuck his tongue out for the second time just to be irritating. It had the desired effect, which was the sight of Tom pretending to turn his nose up in distaste.

"Dinner first," Harry chided. "I'm not so easily wooed, Riddle. You have to put the effort in."

Tom's grin widened further, releasing his grip on Harry's clothing and reaching for Harry's hand instead. "Why, Mr. Potter—I am hardly one to be improper. You shall have your wining, and your dining, and everything in between."

* * *

"So, how is old Abraxas doing?" James asked from across the table.

Tom and Harry exchanged a look, and then Harry cleared his throat. "I haven't talked to him much lately," Harry said. "I've been… busy with schoolwork. But Lucius is, um, doing well."

That was a simple enough answer, Tom supposed. Though he hoped this line of questioning would desist soon, lest Harry end up acting out of character and arousing suspicion. While Harry's parents were the amiable, easy-going sort, Tom knew that if anything ever happened to Harry, the claws would come out, so to speak.

"Uh huh," James said. "Tell him that we're golfing again soon. As soon as the weather is nice."

Lily made eye contact with Harry and rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner. Then she resumed eating her dinner just as James swivelled in her direction, eyes narrowed.

"You don't understand," James said. "It's just a bit of healthy competition, Lily. Some old fun between old friends."

"Last time you ended up trying to wrestle him on the turf," Lily said, not missing a beat as she delicately lifted a scoop of mashed potatoes to her mouth.

"He deserved it," James said immediately. "Prissy git."

Tom tried to imagine what that would look like. Harry's father and Lucius' father wrestling on the bright green of the golf course. Perhaps he'd have to accept Lucius' next offer to join them, just to see if it would happen again.

"Mhmm," Lily said. She took a sip of water, then turned to Harry. "And how are you doing, Tom? Not too stressed with school? You know I always worry you're working too hard, all holed up on campus."

Harry smiled. "It's really nice of you to worry about me, but you really don't need to." He rolled his head to the side to gaze at Tom, then added, "Harry takes excellent care of me."

"I do," said Tom, fondness warming his tone. "I do a very good job of that."

"You're both the sweetest," Lily said. "I was watching out for your father for ages before he realized that most of the things I did were for his own good."

"I resent that," James said, cheerful. "But she's absolutely correct."

"Anyways, are we going to watch a movie after dinner?" Lily asked. "Or do you two have to study?"

"Study," Tom said.

"I'm helping Harry with an… assignment," Harry added after a beat.

Tom would have winced outwardly if he could have gotten away with it.

"Well, Lily and I are going to make brownies," James said. "So you have to come down later and decorate them with us. No arguments. And then maybe we'll play Monopoly."

"No," Harry said, too quickly, and Tom could tell the word had slipped out without conscious thought on Harry's part.

"Ah, ah," James said, waggling his fork in Harry's direction. "You just don't want to lose your title as reigning champ. But I see you Tom, and I'm not going down easy."

"We're kind of busy," Tom interjected. "Tom has a lab he needs to work on with Luna tomorrow."

"Nonsense," James said. "You boys deserve a break. Study first, then brownies and Monopoly. I am not taking no for an answer. And Harry, you'll be the banker like usual, and Lily will be our esteemed audience member."

"I'll be sure to film the moment for posterity," Lily said wryly. She stood and gathered up the empty plates. "Tom, won't you be a dear and help me with the rest of the table?"

Tom preemptively elbowed Harry, who glared at him.

'Yes, of course." Harry stood up, tugging at the hem of his jumper. "I'd love to help."

James stared at Harry as though he was seeing him for the first time. "That's Harry's jumper, isn't it?"

"Um," Harry said. The pause stretched on for a beat, and then Harry added, rather belatedly, "Yeah?"

Lily swung her upper body through the doorway that led to the kitchen. "It looks very nice on you, Tom. Don't mind James, he's just a tease."

"Thanks," Harry said. He looked down as his jumper again, his face flushed, then quickly gathered up the rest of the things on the table and scampered into the kitchen after his mother.

"Isn't Tom cute?" Tom asked rhetorically, parking his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hands.

James snorted. "Two of you made up, I take it?"

"Something like that," Tom said. "We're working on it."

* * *

Once the dishes were safely parked in the dishwasher, Tom and Harry went back upstairs. Harry kept tugging absently on the sleeves of his jumper, an anxious motion that made Tom feel a bit bad about the entire ordeal, despite the fact that there was no one to actually blame for their strange situation.

"That was awkward," Harry said, once they were out of earshot of the kitchen. "What are we going to do now?"

"Study," said Tom.

Harry stopped in the middle of the staircase to stare at him. "Study?"

"Aren't we waiting to see if this fixes itself overnight?" Tom asked, skeptical.

"I mean… I guess so?"

"Exactly. So I'm going to use the free time here to study. I'm going to use your laptop, if that's alright? You have your desktop computer already, and I don't want them to walk in on you using mine."

They continued up the stairs at a normal pace, Harry trailing a step behind.

"Right. You know I don't mind if you use my laptop, Tom."

"Mhmm."

They entered Harry's room, and Harry shut the door. "Maybe we should use this time to talk?" Harry asked. "Or should that wait until after we get ourselves sorted?"

It took a moment for Tom to register the sudden stiffness in his joints. He forced his shoulders to relax, slid a neutral expression onto his face. "Whatever you prefer, Harry. Though I think you ought to remember your parents are expecting us downstairs in an hour or two. It might be a wiser decision to save it for later on."

"Oh. That makes sense." Harry strode over to his desk and pulled his laptop into his arms. "Here," he said, handing it over. "Do you need me to put in the password?"

"No, I remember it." Tom accepted the laptop and set it down onto the bed.

"Alright. I guess I can do my readings, then. Unless you need me for anything?" Harry asked, a tinge of hopefulness colouring his voice.

"When are your readings due?"

"Um." Harry ducked his head slightly. "Not until Wednesday, actually."

Tom considered this. "If you like, you can look over my lab report—the one I'm meeting with Luna tomorrow to discuss. Just in case you have to meet with her."

Harry nodded. "I can do that. It's physics, right?"

"Mhmm. If you need me to help you with it, let me know."

"I know physics, Tom. I might be studying chemistry, but I know physics."

"Just wanted to make sure I offered." Tom pulled up his student account on Harry's laptop and navigated to his file drive. "I'll send you the file in a moment. All you need to do is make sure you can explain things to Luna. She missed the lab that day, so she needs the data explained to her so she can make her calculations."

"Okay. So if I do have to meet her, which I hopefully won't because this is all going to be fixed by tomorrow, I just have to tell her what happened in the lab? That won't take too long, right?"

"It shouldn't," Tom agreed. "She's a nice girl, only she's rather talkative. You're likely too nice to be able to escape early."

Harry made a noise of disagreement, but he didn't argue further, and so they settled down to work. After Harry finished with the lab report, he went on his phone, texting with Ron and Hermione, most likely.

Tom worked through the material that had been covered in his morning lecture and started on his next assignment. He was part of the way through when both he and Harry heard James calling them from downstairs.

Harry swung his legs off his bed, straightening. "Here we go," Harry said, sounding like he was gearing up for mortal combat. "You better play Monopoly _exactly _like I do, or else they're going to think I've gone mad."

"And you better play to win, or else they'll think _I've _gone mad."

Simultaneously, they narrowed their eyes at each other, discerning and calculating.

"Truce," Harry said.

"Truce," Tom said.

They shook on it.

* * *

A/N:

i don't actually plot this story; i just write whatever i feel like. so this is what it is? i have an ending in mind, sort of, but i'm mostly just writing this one for shits and giggles.

so my point is: give me all your monopoly disaster stories in the comments, and i might include them *shifty eyes*


	7. Collect 200 Feels as You Pass Go

A/N:

monopoly might tear some people apart, but it can also bring some people together. the mood hit me, so this chapter is a lot of F - E - E - L - S.

* * *

**Chapter 7: Collect 200 Feels as You Pass Go**

* * *

Tom had landed on the first property of the game, which was pink. So he had bought it, because that was what Harry would have done. Then Harry had given him a thumbs up, which was so blatantly out of character that Tom wished he'd landed on a green or a brown instead, just so he could have purchased it out of spite.

The game progressed, with Tom losing badly as he played with Harry's strategy—which was not a strategy so much as the exact opposite of having a strategy—and Harry losing badly because he did not know how to play to win. Tom was beginning to regret the deal he'd made, if only because their current game was going so poorly that Lily had even set aside her sudoku booklet to watch them.

"You're not just humouring me, are you?" James asked, eyes narrowed as he peered sharply in Harry's direction.

"Er," said Harry. "No?"

Tom shifted back, resisting the urge to fidget. The first time he had played Monopoly with Harry's family, he hadn't known all of the rules or what the best strategies were. There had been no one to play with at the orphanage or at the public school he'd gone to, and by the time he'd befriended Lucius, he had thought himself much too old for board games.

At least, until he'd met the Potters. After getting thoroughly and completely thrashed by James Potter, Tom had taken to the game with a relentless thirst for vengeance. James had been thrilled, mostly because Harry seemed to lack even one competitive bone in his body when it came to Monopoly.

Which had been strange, because Harry was competitive in everything else he did—sports, grades, video games. And then Tom had met Sirius Black, and everything clicked into place.

One had to be insanely, ridiculously competitive to play _ anything _ with James and Sirius; many of their Monopoly games had dissolved into arguments that were followed by an absurd amount of good-natured roughhousing. Said roughhousing mostly involved trying to mess with each other's hair. Tom had stayed out of those by virtue of being a guest, and by sitting next to Harry whenever they all played together.

Another three turns passed, and then Harry stood up. "I'm about to use the loo," he announced with a quick look at Tom.

Tom eyed the game board. At this rate, the game would be over very, very soon.

Once Harry had vanished down the hall, James sidled over to Tom. "Is he losing on purpose, Harry? Do you think he's just trying to score points? Because I like my victories to be earned, you know. It's really not a fair fight if he's letting me win."

"He might be," Tom said slowly. "Perhaps I should go and talk to him?"

"You go and do that," Lily said in an encouraging tone. "Goodness knows James will be insufferable if he wins his champion title back."

Tom walked over to the bathroom and knocked on the door. As expected, Harry was in there, waiting, pacing the tiny space anxiously.

"This isn't working," Harry said, looking up. "I don't know how to play like you do."

"We have about five minutes," Tom said in tones of utmost seriousness. "So listen very carefully."

* * *

After their impromptu coaching session, Harry was faring much better. Tom was almost proud, in a way. Because Harry was intelligent enough to win if he applied himself; it was just that he'd never bothered to try. Although, to be fair, Harry typically spent most of his time playing Monopoly fending off bribery attempts from his father and godfather.

In the end, James won their first game, but by less than he would have if Harry had continued playing without Tom's advice.

"Oh, I see we've got a comeback here," James said lightly, grinning at Harry. "I'll have to stop holding back, then."

"As if," Harry retorted. "You've just gotten lucky, that's all."

"Sure, sure," James said, waving it off. "We'll see about that infamous Potter luck as soon as I grind you into the ground, Tom."

Harry raised a brow, challengingly so. Tom recognized the look even though it was on his own face. If he was not mistaken, this game was about to get very interesting.

"Rematch," Harry said, voice brimming with confidence. "And we'll see who comes out on top this time."

They cleared the board and played again. Harry was positively _ ruthless. _ The game was on, and James was thrilled, if his manic smile was anything to go by.

And if Tom deliberately messed up whenever he could to fund Harry's sudden capitalist thirst (in the hopes that Harry would squash James Potter), then no one had to know.

"You are going down," James groused as he landed on another one of Harry's properties.

"Uh huh," said Harry, holding out a hand. "Time to pay up."

Tom snorted a laugh. This was even better than beating James himself, because watching Harry play competitively was a treat all on its own. Even more so because Harry was winning and clearly enjoying himself.

* * *

Halfway through their second game, the gameplay began to get… heated.

James and Harry were engaged in solid combat while Tom meandered around the board, losing all his money. Tom had never played to lose before; it was actually relaxing. James and Harry could complain and shittalk all they liked, and Tom didn't have to bother with any of it.

There was some bickering over the rules, and haggling over the prices, and begging from the banker (Tom). Tom maintained his neutrality, mostly amused by the antics, and tried to predict the results while he snacked on the brownies that Harry's parents had made.

As the game continued on, it grew very, very close. Tom had been starting to wonder if they would be here all evening. Then an unlucky roll sent James into mortgaging, and it was a slippery slope from there as Harry slowly bought up the entire housing market.

"I win!" Harry declared. "You've gone bankrupt!"

James made several loud sounds of exaggerated dismay. "You're a knave. A scoundrel and a knave! You've been consorting with the banker!"

"You lose," Harry retorted, smacking his hands down on his thighs. "You lose, you lose, you lose!"

"I'm offended you think I would compromise my integrity," Tom said. "I take my banking very seriously."

"Come here, you," James said, tilting over to grab Harry.

_ "Nooo," _ Harry said, trying to scramble away, but it was too late. James wrestled him into a hold and began to ruffle his hair.

It was surreal. Thanks to Harry's earlier interference, Tom was thoroughly desensitized from the sight of his hair being thrown into disaster. But seeing himself and James wrestling around, like it was normal, like they were family—it dug up other feelings that Tom had thought long dead. Tom had only ever witnessed James play around like that with Sirius and Harry.

Now, however, James was roughhousing with Tom—who he thought was Tom, at any rate. Perhaps it was Harry pretending to be Tom that had triggered the behaviour.

"Get off!" Harry said, laughing. "Stop being a sore loser."

"Let the poor boy breathe, James," said Lily. "You can let your little competition go for one night."

"Fine, fine. But I demand a rematch! Best out of three—"

Harry groaned. "No more Monopoly."

"Tom and I were going to go back up and study," Tom interjected, because he was starting to suspect Harry had forgotten that he wasn't actually in his own body at the moment.

"Yeah, right." Harry jerked his head in agreement. "Upstairs to study."

"Education first," Lily said pointedly, fixing her husband with a stare. "But you'll take some brownies up with you, won't you? Just mind the crumbs."

"Of course," Harry said, already reaching to scoop two of them up with a napkin. "They're very delicious. Thank you for making them."

"Harry will meet you upstairs," Lily added. "I just need him for a moment."

Tom gave Harry a reassuring smile. "Won't be long," Tom said. "Don't eat all the brownies without me."

Harry snorted. "As if." Then Harry disappeared down the hall, and they heard the sounds of his feet on the stairs.

"The two of you are really rubbing off on each other," James said, yawning and stretching his arms out above his head. "I think 'Operation: Monopoly' was a smashing success, right? I told you that a bit of competition would rile him right back up to his normal self."

"Are you doing alright, Harry? You were quiet while they were playing," Lily asked. She moved to kneel next to Tom and placed her hands on his shoulders. "I know you said the two of you still had to talk. I hope your father and I weren't overstepping."

"No," Tom said. "It was fine. Thank you. I really do appreciate you trying to help."

"You both seemed off tonight," Lily continued. "So we were hoping the game would cheer you up. Which I think it has, mmm?"

"It was nice," Tom agreed.

"I think your little pep talk certainly did it," James said, winking. "Perked him right up. It's the Potter charm, I say—"

Lily scoffed. "If you think so, darling. Anyways, we won't keep you any longer. Just be yourself, and I'm sure Tom will love you no matter what."

"Okay." Tom stood up, shrugging Lily's hands off. He swallowed then added, "Thanks. Mum. Dad." He nodded at each of them in turn, then fled for the stairs.

His heart felt heavy. He wasn't used to calling anyone that. Wasn't used to the way they looked at him with such affection. These were Harry's parents, not his. It was idiotic of him to overreact like this.

* * *

Harry was sitting cross-legged on his bed when Tom entered the bedroom. Somehow, Harry must have read the expression on his face, because his eyes widened slightly. He scrambled off the bed and stumbled over to Tom, placing his hands on Tom's elbows.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine," Tom said. "Your parents are very kind."

Harry smiled. "They love you, you know. If you weren't my boyfriend, they probably would have tried to adopt you."

Tom's face scrunched up, and Harry laughed at him, pulling him in for a brief hug. "I'm an adult," Tom groused. "I don't need parents anymore."

"You don't mean that," Harry said, pressing a kiss to the side of Tom's head. "Everyone needs family. And you're more than welcome in ours."

Tom placed his hand—smaller than he was used to, the fingers shorter and the palm more calloused—on Harry's back and rubbed a slow circle, unsure how to connect the words and feelings that were currently floating around in his head. "They're only acting that way now because it's you in my body," Tom said carefully. "But I appreciate what you're trying to say, Harry."

"No!" Harry exclaimed, leaning back to look Tom in the eye. "Absolutely no. My dad is _ always _ going on about how much fun he has when you're here. And mum thinks you're adorable because you're always so polite to her even when she's poking fun at you."

Tom felt his cheeks grow warm, flush with the truths that Harry did not know. He was polite around Harry's parents because he wasn't sure how else to act. With other adult figures in his life—Abraxas Malfoy, his professors—it was easy to perform as expected, to be pleasant and likeable. To model the behaviours that people wanted to see.

But with Harry's parents, it was different. Tom wasn't sure what role he was supposed to play as their son's boyfriend. Harry's parents were not like other parents. What rules were there for this sort of relationship?

So Tom had tried to be distant and obedient, tried to gauge what kind of son-in-law James and Lily would like to see. They treated him like family. They invited him to come by all the time. It would have been rude to say no. And so Tom found himself in the same situations over and over, trying his best to navigate the unfamiliar waters of the little family unit that the Potters presented.

Only now it seemed that Harry had an idea what that role ought to look like, and it was a role that slotted right into the current dynamic. Tom was supposed to belong here, with the three of them, playing board games and eating baked goods.

Harry leaned in to place another sprightly kiss, this time on Tom's cheek. "This is still weird, by the way. Kissing myself. But you deserve a kiss, so I'm giving one to you."

Tom sniffed, his hands curled around Harry's waist, fingers locked tight. "Let's study," he said.

"Fine," Harry said. "But only if you accept that you're part of the family. Even Sirius thinks you are. He keeps asking if I want to take you to Las Vegas."

"Sirius is an enabler," Tom said, huffing. "He even calls himself a bad influence."

"Changing the subject," Harry chided. "But fine. We'll study. And then maybe we should have a talk after that?"

"Sounds perfect," Tom said, masking his reluctance with bravado. "Have you finished with the lab report?"

"Er, yes." Harry stepped back, looking embarrassed. "It didn't take me that long. I was mostly watching vine compilations before dinner."

"Very nice." Tom moved to the bed, where he'd left Harry's laptop, and turned it back on. "Do you plan to continue with that?"

"I could get ahead in my readings," Harry said, hesitant, which likely meant he wasn't about to do so. His hands tugged on the hem of his jumper.

"Don't feel like you have to study. I'm fine to work on my own," Tom told him. "You could put on a movie."

"Maybe." Harry flopped onto his bed, watching as Tom drew up the login screen and punched in the password. "Can I help you with your school stuff?"

"There's not much you can help with, unfortunately."

"Okay." Harry rolled onto his back to regard the ceiling. "Maybe I'll just listen to music."

Tom hummed in response. "You can play aloud, if you like."

Harry pulled out his phone, and soon there was music playing in the background while Tom worked on his class assignments. There was not much left to do, and it was hard for him to focus when the inevitable was nigh.

Really, everything he was currently looking at could wait until tomorrow. He was stalling, waiting, hoping that some sudden clarity would come to him. Some way to fix the conversation in his favour, so that he would never need to know what it felt like to lose someone he cared for.

What if this conversation ended with Harry yelling at him, or even worse, breaking up with him? Even if James and Lily did think of him as family, such thoughts only lasted so long as he was dating their son. If he lost Harry, he would lose them, too.

Harry and his family had grown on him, had clung like morning dew after a late night rain. Filling the gaping void Tom had stitched up so many times over the course of his patchwork childhood. String that never seemed to hold, no matter how hard he tried.

So Tom dawdled on with his work, but as the hour grew late, he knew that he couldn't continue to put it off. With a snail's pace, he saved his work, logged out of his accounts, and shut the laptop down.

"All done?" Harry asked, glancing up from his phone.

"All done," Tom said, and then he heaved a low sigh, a heavy exhale of air pushed from his lungs in an attempt to soothe his racing heart.

Harry sat up, pulling his legs into that familiar cross-legged position he was fond of. "I almost wish all this hadn't happened," Harry said. "Because we put this off for a lot longer than we should have. But it's not like there's anything we could have done to avoid this."

Anxiety plunged into Tom, thick and heavy like a lead pipe. Tom swallowed it down, pulled up the control that had kept him sane for so many years, used it as a shield against whatever would come. "What did you want to talk about first?"

"Come here." Harry patted the space on the bed next to him.

Reluctantly, Tom approached. How could he not? Harry drew him in regardless, had drawn Tom in with his joyful laugh and kind, beautiful eyes.

Harry shuffled forward, fingers scrabbling for Tom's hands. Long, slender fingers gripping around his palm, his wrist. Tom swallowed again, blinking, breathing. The presence of Harry next to him, holding onto him, was grounding.

"This isn't a conversation of ultimatums," Harry said. "I really want you to know that."

Tom wanted to know that, too. He wanted to believe it. "I know."

Harry's eyes, always kind, always patient when it came to Tom, held warmth in their gaze even when the eyes were not his own.

Well, not always so patient. Tom knew he could be a pain, that he pushed buttons because the buttons were there to be pushed. He lacked restraint, and he lacked the proper depth to have a conversation like this, a conversation where the depth mattered.

"And—" Harry sucked in a breath, colour staining his cheeks as his hands closed around Tom's, his eyes very intent. "And I love you. That's not going to go away just because we had a fight."

* * *

A/N:

is this chapter too heavy? i'm sorry D: i had a mood and this chapter just poured out of my brain. but i feel like this kind of moment needs the appropriate amount of gravitas.

anyways.

reviews are loved, appreciated, and hung up on my bedroom wall. xoxo


	8. Sweeter Than Fiction

**A/N:**

previously on 'amanda why did you leave us hanging for so goddamn long wtf':

_Harry's eyes, always kind, always patient when it came to Tom, held warmth in their gaze even when the eyes were not his own._

_Well, not always so patient. Tom knew he could be a pain, that he pushed buttons because the buttons were there to be pushed. He lacked restraint, and he lacked the proper depth to have a conversation like this, a conversation where the depth mattered._

_"And—" Harry sucked in a breath, colour staining his cheeks as his hands closed around Tom's, his eyes very intent. "And I love you. That's not going to go away just because we had a fight."_

* * *

**Chapter 8: Sweeter Than Fiction  
**

* * *

Harry kept his eyes on Tom's, careful not to give into his urge to be shy and look away. Though he had thought these words—I love you—many times, this was the first time he'd ever said them aloud. He wanted to be sure that Tom knew he meant it. Tom's hands were warm in his as Harry waited for a response.

"You—" Tom broke off, blinking. "You said it."

Harry felt a rush of affection at this. "I did," Harry said, smiling, "because it's true."

Tom's hands twisted around to cover Harry's, squeezing hard. "You don't have to say that just to reassure me," Tom said, and his face contorted like it was trying to settle on an expression but could not quite get there.

"You are so stupid," Harry said. "The stupidest."

Tom opened his mouth to protest, and so Harry lifted a hand to cover the opening up. This action had the amusing result of drawing Tom's brows into an irritated scrunch.

"I know you hate talking about your feelings," Harry said, "which is why I want you to know that I love you. I want you to be able to trust me with your feelings, if you can. And if you can't, then I'd like for us to work towards it. I know I'm not perfect either, but I'm trying my best. Does that sound like something you can agree with?"

Tom nodded slowly, and so Harry dropped his hand, replacing his touch with a kiss to Tom's cheek. That prompted a smile, even if it was a tiny one, which warmed Harry's heart.

"Okay, great." Harry breathed out, then in, counting the seconds between as he wrangled his courage into place. "So now do you think we can talk about stuff?"

"Of course." The response—immediate and almost monotone—sounded automatic.

Tom disliked these conversations, which was why Harry had made an effort to push for it. If they didn't talk about these issues, they would only get worse. Unfortunately, in the midst of his pushing to make this conversation happen, Harry had forgotten something rather important.

"We don't have to talk just yet if you don't want to."

Tom blinked and shifted back, though his left hand remained wrapped around Harry's. "But we need to talk about this," Tom said slowly. "It is a part of a healthy relationship. You said that."

"I mean, yes, eventually we really do need to have a proper talk. But I also don't want to pressure you into talking about anything before you're ready. I should have brought that up earlier."

Tom said nothing. Harry waited patiently for a response, but none came out.

"Saying no is okay, Tom. We can shelve this for later. I just thought it would be easier for us both if we got this one stressful thing out of the way, you know?"

"I don't know," Tom admitted quietly. He glanced at their joined hands, then back up at Harry's face. When Tom spoke again, his voice was wry. "Perhaps it is easier like this. I'd be talking to myself, after all."

Harry pressed a palm to Tom's cheek, cupping it. It was strange to be looking into his own eyes, to gaze upon himself while the affection he felt for Tom welled up inside of him like a tidal wave. "A bit of self love never hurt anyone," Harry joked.

Tom smiled a little at that. "Why don't you tell me what's been bothering you, Harry." He sounded calm, his tone warm and almost familiar.

Harry felt… happy. He wrapped his arms around Tom's waist, tugging him into a hug, then tipped them both backwards and onto the bed.

A small 'oof' sound escaped Tom's lips. "Are we talking or not?" Tom grumbled, but he draped an arm around Harry's shoulder. "Also, you're too tall for this now."

"Mmmm." Harry nuzzled closer. "Worth the discomfort."

Tom sighed like he was being put upon. "I will be blaming you for my future back problems."

"Okay," Harry agreed, knocking his chin against Tom's chest. "As long as we're still together."

Tom sighed a second time, the noise softer and more fond. "Harry, we can talk about whatever it is. You don't need to worry about sparing my feelings."

Harry rolled his head to the side and laid his cheek next to Tom's heart. "I know." A hand caressed the back of his head, stroking lightly. Harry snuggled in closer and said, "I just… I don't want this to be something that hurts what we have together."

"I know you would never hurt me on purpose. So long as you'll have me, Harry, I'm here with you." Tom threaded their fingers together, linking their hands. "Now tell me what I need to do to fix this."

"First of all," Harry began, "it's not fixing. It's _improving. _Second of all, it's not a one-sided problem that _you _need to work on alone. That's what makes this a relationship—we work on it together."

"Yes, yes," Tom said. "I understand."

Tom was absolutely brilliant at almost everything—he excelled at academics and was a fountain of knowledge on so many subjects—but his only basis for a healthy relationship was his friendship with Lucius and his strange mentor/protege thing with Abraxas. Tom didn't consider most people to be worthy of his time and attention, and so he'd never had to work at all the things that most couples needed to do. Harry worried that one day this gap of experience between them would prove to be the last straw.

"I am listening," Tom added. "I promise, Harry."

Just like that, the rest of Harry's anxiety melted away. Tom's response was further assurance that this would work. Tom did make an effort to understand, to anticipate Harry's needs and meet them as best he could.

The only reason they had ended up in this mess in the first place was because Harry had gotten used to that—used to Tom knowing exactly what to say or do in any stressful situation. Tom was brilliant, yes, and so Harry had forgotten how vital proper communication was.

"Okay," Harry said. "Let's talk."

* * *

Their talk lasted for the rest of the evening, and by the end of it, Harry felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. It was one thing to realize just how much he had been bottling up; it was another to finally talk about it in an open way.

Tom was attentive as a listener and engaged when Harry asked cautious questions. Harry did feel like things would be better going forward. Especially because they had gotten this talk done, which set a precedent for the future.

"Is that everything, then?" Tom asked once the conversation had petered out. "Or was there more you wanted to talk about?"

Harry yawned and stretched his arms out. He and Tom were sitting across from each other on the bed. "No, I think that's it, actually. I think we pretty much covered everything that I wanted us to."

"Then you ought to sleep. It's rather late now, and 'I' am supposed to meet Luna tomorrow."

Harry had forgotten about that. "Right. I hope she doesn't notice anything off about me. I mean—about you."

"You'll perform admirably. Luna's a bit odd, anyhow. I don't doubt she'll have some interesting explanation to excuse whatever slip ups occur."

"Yeah." Harry rubbed at his face. "Do you think this will fix itself in the morning? I reckon it's cliche for us to go back to normal after talking our problems out but… I'm kind of hoping that was it."

"We'll see come morning. There's no point in assuming it will or hoping it will. We don't have any way of knowing what will happen."

Tom was right, but it didn't stop Harry from getting his hopes up anyways.

"Guess I'll go into the guest bedroom. I'm surprised my mum hasn't been nosing by the door, checking on us." Harry didn't fully mean the comment; he was fairly sure that his mum had known he and Tom were going to have a talk and had given them the space to do so. But the hour was late, and Harry didn't expect his parents' generosity to extend to letting Tom spend the night in his room.

"She's far too perceptive for that, your mother." Tom sat up and rolled his shoulders. "I'll see you in the morning, then."

Harry's hand lingered on the bed. Then he swooped over and pecked Tom on the cheek. "Good night, Tom."

Tom gave Harry's hand a quick squeeze. The tender gesture warmed his heart. Even if he woke in his own guest bedroom tomorrow morning, they still had this.

* * *

Harry washed for bed in the guest bathroom, dressed in Tom's pyjamas, and flattened out on the guest bed. He set his alarm, then put his phone on the bedside table.

Then Harry paused. He and Tom should have switched phones in case his parents came to check on them. But then again, maybe it wasn't that big of a deal? Certainly there wasn't anything he could do about that now, right?

It took him at least an hour to finally calm his mind enough to sleep. The unfamiliarity of the room, combined with his own worries about whether they would ever go back to normal, kept his brain restless and anxious. A few times he had to pull his own head out of his useless thought processes.

Like Tom had said, there was nothing they could do right now. Losing sleep over this wasn't going to help anyone. So Harry tossed and turned for some time, but he eventually managed to let his exhaustion overtake him and send him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When Harry woke, the bright morning sunlight was blinding him. He'd forgotten to close the curtains because it wasn't his usual room. He… was not in his usual room. He was in the guest room, which meant he was still not himself.

Bloody hell.

Harry swung Tom's long legs over the side of the bed and sighed. Well, this was only to be expected, right? Tom had even warned him against getting his hopes up.

As if on cue, there was a faint rapping at his door. Harry knew before he opened it that it would be Tom.

"I know, I know," Harry grumbled as he tugged the doorknob. "I got my hopes up."

Tom was already fully dressed. Harry squinted, then remembered he didn't need to squint, then stared at Tom's hair—his own hair. It wasn't slicked with hair gel the way it had been yesterday. In fact, it didn't even look like it had been brushed at all.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Tom said, stepping through and shutting the door behind him. "We will sort this together, as I said."

Harry tried to smile, tried to mask his disappointment. It wouldn't help them in this situation.

Tom sighed and came closer, placing his hands on Harry's shoulders. "This is difficult, I know, but you are more than strong enough to get through this. If this doesn't improve, then we'll have to tell your parents."

"Ugh," Harry said. "That makes it sound like I've got some awful terminal disease. Which, er, I don't, because being you is not the same as having a disease but—god, you know what I mean. This sucks."

"It does suck." Tom frowned, then slipped his arms around and pulled him into a hug. "I will find a way to fix this, Harry. I promise."

The words were reassuring. Tom was so… so good at everything he did. He was good at literally everything. If there was anyone who could fix this, it would be him. Harry wanted to believe that.

"We'll fix it together," Harry reminded him. "I have faith."

They stood there for a while. Harry wished he could tuck his head into Tom's neck like he usually did, but with their current heights, it wasn't really feasible.

"I love you," Tom said, after a pause. "And I want you to hear that in my voice, spoken to you of my own free will. So we _will _fix this, if only because any other outcome is unacceptable."

Then Tom leant back and ran his hands up Harry's sides, his dark gaze as intent as his words. It was odd to see Tom's usual intense expression behind round-framed glasses and in those green eyes, but it was also comforting and familiar.

Harry felt his heart do a twist and a flip. He loved Tom more than anything, and it was important that Tom know that. With this in mind, Harry closed his eyes and ducked his head to place a clumsy kiss on Tom's lips.

As they made contact, Harry felt a strange, tingling spark run through him like a bolt of electricity. The warmth was pleasant, drawing him in. Tom's hand came to rest against the nape of Harry's neck, holding them together as their breaths mingled. The angle was awkward and new, but the affection Harry felt was not.

Tom pressed closer. Harry repressed an involuntary shudder as their kiss deepened. It wasn't what he had intended, but it felt _good, _and he'd missed this—

A sharp jerk in Harry's navel area jolted him out of his pleasant experience. His eyelids were closed, but his vision whited out, exploding into savage bursts of light that made it painful to have eyeballs.

Harry stumbled backwards and collided with the wall. No, wait, the _door. _The door? Harry slumped to the ground and was promptly disoriented, thrown by the tug in his stomach? In his brain? Either way, he was dizzy and confused and maybe vaguely nauseous.

"What the hell?"

Harry opened his eyes. He had hit his head on the door and was now slumped at the foot of it. Across from him, Tom was sprawled out on the carpet.

"Oh my god," Harry groaned, rubbing at his head. "Oh my fucking god. You have got to be kidding me. Are we in a Disney movie?"

"If we are," Tom said from the floor, "then it's your fault. I would have kissed you right away, if you'd let me—"

"You're awful," Harry said. "But I will let this go because it worked."

"—and we were having such a nice moment. It's a shame to let it go to waste." Tom sat up and straightened the pyjamas he was wearing. The pyjamas that Harry had changed Tom's body into the night before. God, this was weird.

"Uh huh. I love you, too."

Tom smiled, dazzlingly so, and it was so sweet that Harry felt the throb in his head lessen slightly.

"Fine," Harry whined. He crawled over and flopped onto Tom, knocking his boyfriend back onto the floor with an 'oof'. Tom's arms squeezed him as he snuggled close and planted his face in the crook of Tom's neck, inhaling the familiar scents. "I missed this."

Tom hummed in response. "I missed this, too. As lovely as your body is, Harry, I think I much prefer holding it to being trapped in it."

Harry snorted. "I will not miss being a beanpole. The accessibility of top shelves is not worth the clumsiness I suffered."

"I'll consider that as a compliment on my gracefulness."

"If being a graceful giraffe is a compliment, then yes, you are a graceful giraffe."

"A compliment," Tom repeated. His lips pecked Harry's forehead.

Harry huffed a puff of hot air against Tom's neck. "The most graceful giraffe to grace the planet—"

"Morning, boys!"

At the sound of his father's voice, Harry knocked his head—which was still _sore, _goddamn—against Tom's chin. "Fuck! Ow."

"Hey," Dad scolded. "None of that language in the house! I know you're adults and blah blah, but still. I feel like as your dad I need to be teaching you something."

Harry rolled over onto his back. He was embarrassed at having been caught cuddling Tom on the floor, but honestly, this wasn't _that _bad. Tom was wearing shorts and a t-shirt for sleeping in, but Harry was fully dressed in skinny jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. If they had _actually _been up to something, there would have been far less clothes involved.

"Sorry," Harry said. He rubbed at the top of his head, then winced. "Ow."

"You need ice," Tom commented, sitting up now that Harry was no longer on top of him. To James he added, "Harry hit his head on the door."

"I take it 're not a giraffe, you're a rat."

"One ice pack coming right up," said Dad. "And I wanted to ask, Tom, if you had plans for dinner tonight?"

"No," said Tom. Then his eyes slid over to Harry, a question lurking in their depths.

Harry thought he knew what was happening here, and so he only smiled, waiting.

Dad grinned. "Great! We're having family dinner tonight, and you are invited despite daring to defile my son in broad daylight."

"Oh my _god, _dad," Harry said, but James was already running away down the hall, meaning it was too late to berate him properly. "He's insane. I'll get him for that later."

Tom made a thoughtful sound. "Does this mean I _should _defile you in broad daylight? Because honestly, Harry, this was hardly scandalous."

Harry snorted and stretched his arm over so he could put his hand on top of Tom's. "Not what I meant. Besides, dad said _family _dinner. Sirius and Remus will be there, too. If you want to put up with Sirius' catcalling, then be my guest, but I don't recommend it."

At the word 'family', Tom's lips slid into a bland sort of smile, and Harry was reminded of their previous conversation. He gave Tom's hand a squeeze, then thought about what he wanted to say. It was important to him that Tom understood blood relatives weren't needed to have a family.

"I know it's scary to put yourself out there," Harry said softly. "And I know that I can't promise that everything will be perfect forever and ever, so I won't do that. But I don't want you to miss out on feeling loved and cared for because you're afraid to reach out."

Some doubt trickled into Tom's eyes. Harry could see Tom was trying to mask it.

"I really do mean it when I say my family loves you. And I don't just mean my parents. Sirius and Remus, too. And they're my family even if they aren't related to me," Harry said pointedly. Then he shuffled over to lay his head on Tom's shoulder. "So they all love you, which is why _you're _also a part of my family."

Tom let out a slow, shaky breath. It said something that this subject rattled him so much. Harry wrapped an arm around Tom's waist in a one-armed hug. The solid presence of Tom by his side was soothing.

"I have hope that this will last forever," Tom said in a low voice. "For now... I will appreciate what you've given me."

Harry smiled. "That's all I would ever ask for. Besides, you give me more than enough in return. Not to mention my life's gotten about a million times more exciting since we started dating."

"I _am _a very interesting person."

"You're a very dramatic one, yes. Though I think 'unexplained body swap' is going to be a difficult event to top."

"I'll manage, somehow."

Harry didn't doubt that was the truth, and for some reason, he found that he didn't mind. Tom was a part of his life, weird quirks and all, for better or for worse. The adventure of their time together had hardly begun; a future full of shenanigans stretched out ahead of them.

* * *

**A/N:**

OKAY THAT'S A WRAP. I AM GLAD THIS STORY IS FINALLY DONE. tbh i wasn't quite sure where i wanted to end it, but this seems like as good a place as any. this is what i get for not planning anything for this story other than funny jokes and fluffy moments.

i hope you all enjoyed! i am going to mark this series complete, but it does not rule out a sequel in the future if i suddenly get a wacky idea.

thank you all for being patient and waiting for me to get over myself and finish this story. i hope the ending is worthy.

yes the title is that taylor swift song. it slaps.


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